


song of myself

by dumb-apple (KMWells)



Series: an affair with the sky [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Condensed FF7 Plot, Does Not Directly Adhere to Sequels/Prequels, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Language, F/M, Main Character Is Slightly Misogynistic, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit/Referenced Sibling Incest, President Shinra Being An Asshole, Unreliable Narrator, toxic family relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 457,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMWells/pseuds/dumb-apple
Summary: Four years after the failed launch of Shinra No. 26, Charlotte Shinra attempts a normal life at the side of her husband-to-be, picking up the pieces that her disaster left in its wake.The untimely murder of President Shinra unleashes not only a score of covered-up information, but a letter left behind for his daughter, and Charlotte is forced to come to terms with who her younger brother, and what Shinra Inc., really is. On her journey to right the many wrongs inflicted by her father and her father's company, Charlotte finds herself helped along by an old friend and many new ones.
Relationships: Cid Highwind/Original Female Character(s), Reeve Tuesti/Original Female Character(s)
Series: an affair with the sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704106
Comments: 24
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, this is my experimental (?) fic, i suppose, and i began it with several darker themes in mind that i've never really explored before, or had the confidence to explore. so . . . writing about your favorite characters is the perfect way to tackle said themes, right?

**SHINRA HEIRESS ENGAGED!**

It takes a moment for the words to truly sink in (the word ‘Shinra’ appears in the papers every other fifth word). The title is bolded and half the size of the front page, boasting a blown-up photograph below it. 

“Son of a . . . !” 

_Charlotte Shinra, 26, and Reeve Tuesti, 35, both of Midgar, are happy to announce their engagement. Charlotte, formerly Head of the Space Exploration Department, has been Director of Communications for Shinra Inc. for four years. Tuesti, who was previously Director of City Planning in Midgar, has recently been promoted to Head of Urban Development._

The picture stares up at him, taunting him, mocking him. A black and white photograph of two happy people looking spectacularly and sickeningly in love—one radiant and blonde and absolutely fucking beautiful, the other a bastard—a cock-sucking, boot-licking, Shinra-loving, sullen-looking _bastard_. 

It shames Cid to even think about how he had once harbored feelings for Charlotte Shinra, feelings that weren’t complete and utter loathing. Once, she had made him feel things he’d never known existed, as well as many other things—inadequacy was a big one, he recalls. Standing in the shadow of Charlotte Shinra had intimidated him at first, unable to figure out how a skinny little girl could make him feel so insecure and leave him second-guessing everything he did. 

But he’d loved her, too, loved the way she was both parts arrogant and unsure, strutting around the hangar as if she was born there, unafraid to tell people when they were wrong, unafraid to correct men three times her age who had been working on machines since before she was even thought of, unafraid of getting dirty and doing something herself when she didn’t like the way someone else was doing it. 

“You saw the article, then?”

Cid starts violently, closing the newspaper and accidentally tearing it in the process. He’s always startled easily, especially after his brief, but violent, stint in Wutai, a nervous recruit fresh from the academy and itching to fly a plane, not fight some ground battle. But Shera has an uncanny way of sneaking up on him that he doesn’t like, almost as if she purposefully means to invade on his most vulnerable and private moments—case in point, while he’s staring moodily down at the picture of Charlie and Reeve, the stupid son of a bitch. 

“What the hell do you know about anything, Shera?” he snaps, turning his head slightly as Shera lets herself into the kitchen, the clicking of her boots growing louder, nearer. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who she marries, s’long as she and her company stay far away from me and my goddamn rocket.”

“Sounds like you don’t care one fig,” she replies airly, and the idea that she might be mocking him sends a jolt through his systems that lights a fire beneath his feet.

“Isn’t that what I just fuckin’ said?” 

“I remember him,” Shera muses, making for the tea, like she owns the fucking place, always moseying around in her fucking plaid, flannel nightshirt, making her look like some fifty-year-old woman. “He came with her once or twice to camp, didn’t he? His hair was shorter then, and he didn’t have a beard.”

“Who the _fuck_ cares, Shera?” Cid pushes himself to his feet, his chair toppling over and crashing to the floor behind him. “Who the fuck cares what he looked like the one goddamned time he visited camp? Piece of shit _fuck!_ Just make your fuckin’ tea and stop pesterin’ me all the goddamn time!”

Cid retreats to his bedroom, taking care to make lots of noise on his way, stomping his boots on the innocent wooden floors, slamming the door of his bedroom so hard that it rattles on its rusty hinges. 

The announcement of their engagement has left a bitter taste in his mouth. The suddenness of it all . . . not that he’s been keeping tabs on her, but a very public engagement to someone under her father’s payroll seems . . . odd, unlike her, and that recent promotion . . . 

Maybe he just doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t know shit about their relationship, and whether or not it’s based on actual feelings or the prospect of a comfy future within the company. He wants to believe it’s the latter, wants to believe that Charlie would never marry someone her father would actually approve of. 

He sits down hard on his lumpy mattress, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his contacts, scrolling through the few names he has until he sees it: _Lottie_. He hasn’t even changed her name since the last time they had seen each other.

He hesitates, thumb hovering uncertainly over the button that would instantly connect him to her again for the first time in over four years. 

_Fuck, has it been that long?_

He’s heard her voice over the television and the radio many times in the past four years. Despite not holding her position as Head of the Space Exploration Department anymore, Charlie still attends many public events that are broadcasted to nearly every home on the planet, her face always on the cover of some newspaper or magazine, giving speeches to the global community to reassure them of Shinra’s genuine care for their lives. 

It’s easy to see why it’s _her_ they choose to plaster all over the media—she’s much more likeable than her pissant brother or her borderline criminal father. She draws crowds and positive attention from all corners of Midgar, and even a few men in Rocket Town have expressed their ‘love’ for Charlotte Shinra, the world’s most eligible bachelorette . . . until she marries that goddamn suit. 

What would he even say?

_Congratulations on your engagement to the world’s biggest piece of shit! Hope you’re happy for a few years with that dick until your marriage falls apart and you’re left with nothing as a reminder of what people who associate with Shinra deserve!_

Cid turns his phone off before he does something stupid. It’s not like she would answer his call anyway. It’s been over four years now, and if she hasn’t reached out once in those four years, it’s unlikely she’s still interested in rekindling some kind of connection with him again. 

Four long years. She’s probably forgotten his name by now, but maybe that’s for the best. 

* * *

“The boy asked me first, did you know, for her hand in marriage? Like she was some princess.” President Shinra lights his fat cigar, blowing the smoke into Charlie’s face as if on accident. “Damn thing won’t light.”

Rufus’s eyes are fixed on his father with a terrifying intensity, his thin fingers covering his tightly pursed lips, elbow resting on the fine linen tablecloth. This week’s girlfriend sits beside him, casting jealous looks across the table at Charlie, not half so pretty as the last one, with orange hair and freckles, and this one talks out of turn, as well. Rufus hasn’t even told them her name, and Charlie’s sure it’s because he doesn’t know it himself, though the girl had made it her sole goal to flatter Charlie before being seated, likely in the hopes of becoming friendly with Rufus’s family. 

The president continues the slow and drawn-out process of lighting his cigar, engulfing Charlie’s head with the thick gray smoke. Once it finally lights, he lowers it, sighing heavily as if the effort has left him out of breath. 

“Father, put that foul thing out,” Rufus says, moving his hand from his mouth. It’s a command, and a bold one to be spoken to the President of Shinra Inc., not to mention his own father. “Must you smoke it now, at dinner? People are trying to eat, and you’re ruining all the food.”

President Shinra blinks in surprise, and Charlie half-expects him to stand up and beat Rufus bloody. “What did you say to me, boy?”

Rufus doesn’t falter, signaling distractedly for a passing waiter. One arrives at his shoulder almost instantly, bending down so Rufus can speak in his ear. “Take my sister’s plate back. My father has tainted it with his horrible habit. Bring her a new meal, better than the last one, and a bottle of red for her and her fiancé.”

“Right away, Mr. Vice President.”

“Rufus . . .” his little girlfriend whines, touching his arm. Rufus jerks his arm away from her as if he’s been burned, scowling. “What about _my_ food?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your food. Eat it.”

The girl pushes her food around distractedly with her fork.

President Shinra’s gaze lingers ruefully upon his son’s face. “What was I saying?” He puffs his cigar again. “Ah, that’s right. I always worried about you finding a husband, Char. I don’t like the people you associate with. That pilot . . . four years ago . . . I can’t recall the name . . . perhaps I should be counted fortunate not to have that inbred invalid as my future son-in-law.”

The table roars with laughter, none of them louder than President Shinra himself. 

“Cid,” Charlie says softly, causing the large party to go immediately quiet. She clears her throat and lowers her napkin to her lap. “His name is Cid, Father. His last name is painted across your airship.”

No one answers, looking away awkwardly. Charlie drinks deep from her glass of wine. 

The idea had sounded grand, in truth. The idea of all of her “friends” and family celebrating her recent engagement at a private dinner in Midgar’s most upscale restaurant, one that sits at the edge of the upper plate near the reactor, the wide windows giving guests a view of the surrounding earth and distant mountain ranges past the dead and browned earth that surrounds the city. 

A live orchestra plays on the raised stage at the opposite side of the dining room of the restaurant, against a backdrop of white, silk curtains. Long tables have been placed together in a roped-off section to give the party of celebrators some privacy, enjoying the gift of a warm breeze that radiates from the reactor outside, while they dine on the finest foods imported from around the world and the finest wines bottled before Charlie was even born. 

It had started with a red soup mixed with chopped onion and mushroom, served with a tall glass of plum wine, and then came the rice and fresh eel imported from Wutai, then Rufus had chosen some tuna from a massive fish tank for their party to be served nearly raw, plus eggplant steamed to perfection, a thick beef stew poured atop sticky white rice, pickled ginger and cucumber and turnip, steamed fish atop a bed of even more rice, platters with just a small, single serving placed in front of everyone. 

And with wine and liquor still being served, glass after glass after glass, Charlie isn’t sure she’ll be able to make it through the rest of the meals. Already, her head is swimming after all the alcohol, and the lingering smell of her father’s cigar makes her head pound and her stomach churn.

Maybe the dinner would be far more enjoyable if it were _her_ friends gathered around the table. Instead, President Shinra had invited who he wanted, with no care as to whether his daughter and future son-in-law liked them. In fact, Charlie thinks most of them are completely abhorrent, especially that fat Heidegger and Scarlet, who has never been amicable towards herself _or_ Reeve. Her father had even had the audacity to invite Palmer, the very man who’d taken her position after the failure of her rocket launch. Everyone involved at the topmost level of Shinra Inc. is seated around the table, including the empty-headed mayor, everyone that Charlie would have chosen _not_ to invite to her own gathering. 

The waiter brings Charlie a fresh bowl of soup, the pork belly and boiled eggs smelling something delectable, but she isn’t even sure she’s willing to eat it, not with everything still sitting in her stomach. She thanks the waiter politely after he places a fresh bottle of wine in front of her, smiling sweetly and rather drunkenly, dismissing him with a flippant wave of her hand. 

Reeve leans in close to her as President Shinra banters with the waiter about available wines, anything but the wine chosen for Charlie. “You know,” he murmurs, “I could always pretend to be sick and we could leave here early. I think _LOVELESS_ is playing their last show for the night downtown in an hour. We could still make it if we hurry.”

“A few more drinks and I won’t need to pretend. You’ll be dragging me home in about thirty minutes.” Charlie smiles at him reassuringly, wanting to lean into him and watch the entire world around them disappear, leaving just the two of them. 

“No different from any other night.”

She laughs softly, a laugh just for him. “I _do_ love you.”

“Look at the lovebirds,” Scarlet remarks, a thin and penciled eyebrow raised. She holds her wine glass up to hide her mouth, but Charlie can picture the smirk on her lips without seeing them. “You haven’t even shown us the ring yet, sweetheart.”

Charlie knows that Scarlet is only looking for a reason to mock the engagement (the words _faux_ and _sham_ have already been thrown around by Scarlet behind their backs, according to Rufus), but a refusal to show off her ring would only hurt Charlie’s cause. Smiling, she holds her left hand out to the table at large, allowing everyone to fawn over the sparkling round-cut diamond that nearly swallows her thin finger. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Charlie asks, looking directly at Scarlet, beaming as brightly as the diamond. “Ten carats, and the band was custom made, platinum.”

She had almost cried upon first seeing it, easily the finest piece of jewelry she owns. 

“Lovely,” Scarlet hums, bored. 

Palmer mops his sweaty bald forehead with a silk handkerchief, giving her unfiltered praise, while Heidegger eyes the ring with a gleam in his dark eyes that Charlie doesn’t like at all, and Mayor Domino echoes whatever sentiments his companions share. 

“You’re putting us all to shame,” Tseng remarks, the only Turk allowed at President Shinra’s table (at Rufus’s insistence), nodding approvingly at Reeve, who shifts uncomfortably under President Shinra’s critical gaze. Charlie smiles upon hearing the genuine delight in his voice. “Every woman in the world will be searching for a diamond ring like Charlotte Shinra’s.”

Rufus looks surprisingly satisfied. “My sister deserves nothing less.”

“It’s so beautiful,” his girlfriend coos, her eyes wide with awe. It’s clear that she’s never seen anything quite so spectacular, and it gives Charlie a queer sort of pleasure. “Oh, Rufus . . . it’s so lovely, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t I just imply it was very fine?” Rufus snaps. “I told you to eat your food.”

Her father’s voice cuts through the din like the crack of a whip. “How much did you spend on that ring, son?” 

Charlie’s smile falters, and Reeve clears his throat. “If it’s all the same to you, Mr. President,” he begins, “that is a detail I would prefer not to speak of in front of my fiancée. I would be happy to answer any questions when we’re able to speak privately.”

President Shinra exhales heavily, leaning back in a seat that looks far too small for him. Every chair does, except for the throne-like thing he sits upon in his office. “Smart boy.”

Her father’s praise (no matter how small) makes Charlie smile, and the tension melts away from Reeve’s body when she curls her fingers around his bicep, squeezing lightly. 

Picking up the smoldering remains of his cigar, he puts the fat thing to his lips again and goes to light it, this time with a deftness and skill that he had lacked before when he’d deigned it appropriate to blow smoke in his own daughter’s face at her own celebratory dinner. He addresses the table at large again, as if this were no more than a mandatory staff meeting, full of false smiles that indicate next to none of them are delighted to be present, even being served such lavish food.

“How soon will you be married?” President Shinra grunts, fingering the straining buttons of his silk waistcoat, threatening to burst. 

Charlie and Reeve exchange a quick look. “We haven’t set a date yet, Father,” she replies, covering Reeve’s hand with her own. “But within the year, for a certainty.”

“Good. No longer than a year, I think. In Midgar?” her father presses, scooping some sticky rice into his mouth and chewing loudly, looking very much a glutton in the moment. “The plate will be flooded with beggars, paupers, the infirm . . . they’ll crawl up from the slums to see you married. I’ll not have it. The last thing we need is a few dirty rats infesting Headquarters. You remember what they did to the family home?” President Shinra looks very seriously up and down the table. “Small riot outside the gates. They would have broken in if I hadn’t set security there.”

“It wasn’t a riot, Father,” Rufus interrupts, rolling his eyes. “And it was because of _me_ that Charlie wasn’t harmed. You only put Tseng outside the home because _I_ suggested it.”

“You hold your tongue, boy,” President Shinra retorts coldly. “I know what I’m talking about.” He looks back to Charlie, chewing his food noisily, speaking with his mouth full. “You won’t be married within the city. Costa del Sol will be a fine place for you to marry. You can use the beach house if Rufus will have you. The place is too big for just him.”

Charlie watches the girlfriend’s eyes light up at the thought of a large and empty beach house, but she knows her brother, and she knows that Rufus would never bring slum girls to the beach house. 

Rufus smiles wide, but it doesn’t extend to his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s with all the courtesy he can afford them. “My lovely sister is always welcome at the beach house,” he tells her, cold eyes flicking to Reeve, “and you, Reeve. Congratulations to you and Charlie.”

“Do you still go by that ridiculous nickname?” President Shinra scoffs, making Scarlet titter behind her hands. “Please, you sound unprofessional. With a name like that, no one will take you seriously. Where is the waiter? I’ve been waiting ten minutes for that damn bottle of wine I asked for.” Clearly drunk, he continues to ramble, puffing puffing puffing on his cigar. “Where are you going to live? Not your apartment?”

“We have no intention of leaving the apartment, Father,” she replies. Her father hadn’t liked that one bit, the learning that Reeve had moved in with her before marriage. 

“You’re going to need a house if you want a family.”

Truthfully, her apartment is perfectly fine for a family. They still have an extra bedroom, and there’s plenty of space for a child to run around. “When we decide to have a family, then we’ll look at houses,” she says, hoping it appeases her father.

It does, and he immediately turns away from her to engage Rufus in small talk. Her brother doesn’t seem interested in anything their father has to say, grunting in response here and there as everyone else takes the hint, and the hum of conversation grows again.

Turning to Reeve again, Charlie lays her hand atop his. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” he murmurs, the corners of his lips ticking upwards. 

“No, please, I’ll only be a moment,” she whispers, clearing her throat and getting to her feet when her father stops complaining about finding a waiter. “Please, continue without me.”

Wandering away from the table and towards the tall doors that lead to a small balcony is empty, the two small tables empty. She steps back out into the late summer air, stepping up the balustrade and looking out into the night, able to see Shinra Headquarters from this angle. There’s a chill in the air, cutting through the heat that pulses off the reactor in the near distance, alerting Charlie to the end of summer and the beginning of a new season.

Without trees or plants growing in Midgar, sometimes it’s hard to tell the changing of the seasons.

It’s not as if her engagement had come as a true surprise to anyone. Her father had criticized her at every turn, of course, exploding with fury at the learning on their living together, insisting on a quick wedding, always wondering why they were prolonging things, always so open about his fear that Reeve might wake up one day and decide not to marry her and then who would marry his only daughter, his soft-hearted failure of a daughter?

“Congratulations, Charlie,” comes Rufus’s voice from the doorway, a voice she would recognize anywhere. “I think you’ve finally pleased father.” He steps up to the balustrade to stand at her side, their shoulders nearly touching. His gaze settles on the massive building that is headquarters, lights still blazing from the higher windows, up on the keycard floors. “I’m sure Reeve is happy with his little promotion, as well. Father is rather satisfied with how he’s handling his new department.”

Charlie crosses her arms over her chest. She had worn such a beautiful dress for tonight—a black silk, sleeveless gown with a plunging neckline. Reeve had bought it for her weeks ago, but she had never been able to find an occasion for it, as well as the diamonds that sit heavy around her neck. 

“Where did you find that dreadful girl?” she asks her brother sharply. 

Rufus’s lip curls and he sneers at her. “You don’t like her, sister?” He nudges her gently with an elbow, dressed to the nines in his fitted suit, all white, just like their father. “You and Reeve are going to put ridiculous fantasies in her head of marriage, you know.”

She smiles at her brother. “You should find a nice girl, Rufus, and settle down.”

Rufus scoffs loudly, looking at her with a rather incredulous expression. “Is that what you think?” He looks back towards Shinra Headquarters, clasping his hands together over the railing. The sounds of the city drift up to them from below, cars and generators and the rattling of the train beneath the plate. 

“Is Father going to let you come home?” she asks quietly, and Rufus’s eyebrow shoots up. “It’s been years now. I miss having you in Midgar.”

“Why would anyone ever want to live here when they could live in Costa del Sol?” he asks, but there’s something bitter about his tone. 

“It’s been years, and you’ve never even told me why Father sent you there in the first place,” she notes, hoping that, this year, he might tell her something else beyond it being a ‘business trip’. “You’re vice president now, officially. Surely he needs his vice president at his side, not half a world away.”

He considers Charlie for a moment, giving her a sideways glance and then turning his body in earnest to face her. “It doesn’t matter what that fat fool wants,” he says in a low voice, pointing towards headquarters. “One day soon, that company will be mine, and _you’ll_ be my vice president.” Rufus places his hands on either side of Charlie’s face, so close to her that their identical noses nearly touch. “That stupid broad in there, she won’t matter, and neither will Reeve. It’ll be you and me, sister, leading Shinra together, like it was always meant to be.”

Charlie nods slightly, her lips twitching. 

“You don’t want to be Director of Communications anymore, do you? Would you like to be Head of the Space Exploration Department again, Charlie?” 

“I’d like that very much.”

“My first business decision will be to fire that stuttering idiot Palmer and replace him with you. What does he know of rockets and mathematics and engineering? What does he know about anything?” Rufus continues, smoothing down Charlie’s golden hair and brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Would you like that? Would you like to be my vice president, sister?”

“Yes,” she answers, lowering her head to allow Rufus to press a soft kiss to her hairline before lowering his hands to his sides. 

“You and me, Charlie,” he promises, taking a step backwards to return to the interior of the restaurant. “And for the record, I think Reeve is a bit old for you, personally. And while he may not know it, _I_ know that, even after what happened, you would still run back to your vile little pilot if you had the chance.”

Charlie grits her teeth, watching a smile grow on her brother’s face. “I want that girl gone,” she hisses at him, which only makes him smile wider. “You shouldn’t have brought her. This dinner is for me, not for you to parade around some slut from the slums in an attempt to get back at Father.”

“This one’s not from the slums,” Rufus replies, looking pleased with himself. “This one was fucking Reno until she got bored of him. Isn’t it wonderful? Father hasn’t spoken one word to her the entire night.” 

“Where is Reno? I thought he might be here.”

“Father? Entertain some low level Turks? Not likely. I only convinced him to invite Tseng out of fear for your safety, of course.” Still walking slowly backwards, he opens his arms and performs a mocking bow, adding, “You look lovely, by the way. Are those the diamonds I bought for you?”

Charlie’s hand jumps to her necklace. “Yes.”

She follows him back to their table, where Scarlet remarks on their prolonged absence, which makes their father’s face grow flushed with rage. Reeve smiles a welcome smile at her, a plate of dessert in front of her, a thin slice of chocolate cake with fresh raspberries tucked into the base. 

“. . . once she turned twenty-two, I thought for certain no one would want to marry her,” her father is saying baldly, chewing on the end of his cigar again, puffing rings of smoke into the air. “It’s lucky she took so much after myself instead of her mother—look at her. She’s got the Shinra look about her, doesn’t she? I had hoped that she would have more suitors, but twenty-six isn’t so old. Still healthy enough to have a few sons.”

Charlie blushes on Reeve’s account, but Reeve doesn’t seem half as bothered by this comment. He’s always handled President Shinra’s backhanded compliments with grace, something she’s always admired about him, and he’s quite used to his own mother going on about grandchildren whenever they go to visit. 

“Are you?” Rufus’s girlfriend asks her eagerly, almost innocently. The entire table falls silent at the sound of her voice. “Going to have children, I mean?”

Charlie meets Rufus’s eyes across the table, but there’s a smug look to him, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for his sister’s answer.

“Yes, of course,” Charlie answers automatically. “A son, to inherit the company after Rufus.”

“Wouldn’t Rufus’s son inherit the company?” the girl continues, her dark eyebrows knitting together. 

President Shinra guffaws, wheezing. “Rufus! With a son!” He coughs, choking on his cigar. “The boy would remain celibate forever if he knew it would spite me!”

Rufus’s face darkens as soft laughter echoes around him, an angry flush creeping up his pale face, the nostrils of his pointed nose flaring. 

“Yours would be handsome children, Mr. Vice President,” Scarlet purrs from the other end of the table. “And certainly capable.”

“Brains _and_ brawn!” Heidegger hoots, slapping the tabletop with a meaty fist. “Any of Reeve’s get would be brainy, no doubt. Consider yourself lucky that a son by the two of you would be _one_ of those things.”

“My sister was a fully-trained and capable aeronautical engineer by the age of nineteen, Heidegger, and helped design that airship you’re so fond of, not to mention she was the head of a department at twenty-two,” Rufus shoots back coldly. “What have you ever done in your sorry life that makes you believe she’s anything less than a genius?”

This shuts Heidegger up, earns Charlie a scowl from Scarlet, and disgruntles her father. “Enough, Rufus, enough . . . he knows what he’s said . . .” he mumbles, waving a distracted hand around to put a stop to whatever is beginning. “I’m glad you’re marrying within the company, anyway, Char. Took you long enough to commit, son.”

It continues on in this vein for some time, until President Shinra decides it’s time for everyone to go home, and everyone rises as if he’s called the end to a meeting. Charlie and Reeve linger behind, watching Rufus urge his date along roughly, shushing her with scowls whenever she tries to talk. He pushes her into the back of a car, slamming the door shut behind her, and Charlie sighs, clutching at Reeve’s hand. 

Ever the gentleman, Reeve opens the car door for her when their driver brings it around to the front of the restaurant, long after everyone else has gone. The dark partition keeps the driver from hearing their conversation. 

“The food was very good,” she says after a few minutes of quiet. 

“It was.” He takes her hand, bringing her knuckles to his mouth. “What did your brother have to say to you?”

Charlie smiles, watching him kiss her fingers, squeezing his hand. “He was just talking about the future, is all.”

“Leave it to Rufus to pull a stunt like he did. He only made things worse for you.”

“It was fine, I just . . . I wish Veld could have been there,” she replies, looking up and accepting a kiss from him on the mouth. “I’m just ready to be home and out of this dress.”

They don’t speak for the rest of the time, and Charlie lets them into her apartment well after midnight, her feet aching. She kicks her shoes off the moment she closes the door behind her, flipping the lights on. Through the wide windows that overlook the city, it could still be day outside with all the lights still on and the glow that comes from the surrounding mako reactors and headquarters. 

“Coming to bed?” Reeve touches her waist, brushing away her hair and kissing the crook of her neck, sending chills down her spine. 

“In a minute,” Charlie answers, letting him attend to his ministrations until he pulls away, tugging gently at her hand to urge her back to the bedroom. “I’m just going to finish up some work in my office.”

“Don’t be long.”

She waits until she hears the bedroom door before moving through the glass-paned double doors to her office, taking care to lock herself in. Her desk is covered with papers, handwritten articles that need to be edited before being published in Shinra’s paper (Rufus has taken recently to calling Charlie the Head of Propaganda, which has lessened her desire to be a part of the communications branch of Shinra Inc.).

Opening the topmost drawer of her desk, Charlie pulls out a sealed envelope, an envelope she hasn’t opened in three years, since the first anniversary of her failed rocket launch. She opens it gingerly, pulling out the photograph within and feeling her entire being filling with sadness and longing and emptiness. 

Despite it only being four years ago, Charlie thinks she looks much younger in the picture. Cid’s arm is thrown over her shoulders as if he hasn’t a care in the world, a lit cigarette between his fingers and a thermos in her own hands, both of their smiles genuine and excited, having been prepared to begin their first day of work at base camp. They almost look like siblings—not as similar in looks as she and Rufus are, but still blonde and blue-eyed, tall and athletic and arrogant. 

She flips the photograph over, reading the faded writing on the back.

_Lottie,_

_To the moon and back_

Charlie would never admit it to anyone—she hates even admitting it to herself—but she thinks of Cid often. 

With her phone sitting on her desktop, she looks at it for a long time. After hesitating for a few seconds, she picks it up and opens it to her contacts, scrolling through them at lightning speed until the name _Cid_ is lit up. 

What would she even say? 

_Hey, I’m not sure if you saw that I’m engaged to Reeve, but I am, and my father is really pleased that I’m not marrying you. I thought you loved me, but you probably still think I’m some kind of murderer. Well, if you ever think about me, tell me now before we miss our chance . . . not that it ever would have worked out between us._

She closes her phone. He probably wouldn’t even answer the phone for her. After the way they had parted, after the way she had asked him to kill Shera, after the way she had dismissed him . . . he probably doesn’t want anything to do with her. It’s been four years and he hasn’t once tried to call her or reach out to her or inquire about his airship. 

Charlie turns her desk lamp off and gets to her feet, stuffing the picture back into her drawer, her eyes falling onto a framed picture of her and Reeve just two years ago. 

Calling now would only bring up bad memories. Maybe it’s for the best. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Good evening, and welcome to—” Charlie laughs softly, placing a hand over her heart as the applause continues to swell—“Wow, thank you!”

In front of her, in one of the largest buildings upon Midgar’s plate (an old theater that hasn’t put on a real play in years), nearly a hundred of the city’s most elite and richest citizens sit at circular tables, dressed in gowns that sparkle and jewelry that glimmers in the bright lighting from the stage, and the men sit stoic in their expensive suits, all clapping, all clapping for _her_ , except for one man. 

President Shinra sits at one of the front-most tables with Reeve, smoking a cigar, his eyes fixed critically on his daughter. 

Charlie looks away from her father and out into the crowd again, smiling. “It’s such a pleasure to be here tonight on behalf of the Urban Development Department,” she begins, smiling smiling smiling. “I want to thank you all for being here on such short notice, and I especially want to thank those who have donated items for our auction tonight, and Mayor Domino for allowing us use of this lovely building.”

There’s another smattering of gracious applause. 

“I have been given the job tonight of introducing the Director of the Urban Development Department tonight, Reeve Tuesti, by listing off several things that make him sound very, very good at his job, in the hopes of impressing everyone here tonight,” she continues, pleased to hear hushed laughter among the crowd, “and I’m certain it will be, as his fiancée, the easiest job I’ve ever had by far.” 

More laughter, laughter from everyone and a warm smile from Reeve, but from her father, only a hard stare. He hates jokes, humor, comedy, anything that might make someone seem less impressive. 

The proposal had been attractive to her from the moment Reeve had brought it up after a visit to the Sector Seven slums, shortly after their engagement. They had passed out food to those living amongst filth, dispatched several monsters that were lurking about and picking vulnerable people off one by one, had Reno and Rude shut down a budding crime syndicate that was preying on the elderly and sick. 

The slums had been disgusting, in truth. The houses weren’t houses at all, but makeshift huts built from scrap metal and garbage, most of them without safe drinking water or proper trash disposal, so the outside of nearly every home was filled with bags and cans filled with garbage. Many had no heat, shivering underneath thin and worn and ragged blankets, while others ate cooked rats for dinner or other small rodents that crawled through the sewers, washing it down with what they called “beer”, but what she and Reeve called “piss water”. 

The worst part, Charlie thought, was looking up and seeing nothing but the underside of the plate, unable to see the sky, the stars, the moon, the sun. It’s always dark beneath the plate, always night, even with the sun lamps burning bright, the air stuffy and humid and torrid, smelling of decay and urine and rotting food and sulfur. Pickpockets roamed every corner, waiting for their next victim, men whistled and made crude remarks at her as she passed, and Reeve had ushered her quickly past two bloody corpses lying beside each other atop a pile of trash, their bodies still stiff with rigor mortis. 

Despite their general distrust of Shinra Inc. and all those affiliated, Charlie and Reeve had been welcomed by many people of the slums. When Charlie had explained to the young bartender of the rundown bar named “Seventh Heaven” why they had come, she had offered them a table to meet with others, and Charlie and Reeve had listened to grievances and complaints and requests patiently and kindly, promising to do what was within their power to help them.

Returning above the plate had felt like being born again. Charlie was able to _breathe_ again and not have to worry about who was walking the streets behind her or if the house she entered would collapse on her. 

The sulfuric smell of mako still lingers topside, but it’s not as pronounced, and after a while, people go noseblind to it.

But the amount of children down in the slums had absolutely broken her heart, knowing that those children were breathing that dirty air, that those children would never know what the stars looked like on a clear night, would never know the beautiful cobble-stone streets of the upper crust, would never know what the city looked like a night, when it was all lit up and the prettiest sight in the world from the top floor of Shinra Headquarters.

So when Reeve had proposed they attempt to build some subsidized housing in the slums for families with children, Charlie had been ecstatic, and agreed to help him without needing to hear anything more of his plan. He had been thrilled to take on the title of “architect” again, and Charlie loved watching him draw in the dim lighting, hours after most employees had gone home for the night.

“. . . I’m so pleased to welcome to the stage,” Charlie finishes, smiling wide again, “Reeve Tuesti, Director of the Urban Development Department.”

The guests all clap again as Reeve rises to his feet from the table, buttoning his suit jacket and walking the short way up the three stairs and onto the stage. There’s a genuine smile on his face as he gives the crowd an acknowledging nod, placing a hand on the small of Charlie’s back to kiss her cheek before she returns to the table, to sit alone at her father’s side. 

Dinner is served to them as Reeve discusses his plan to give the slums some affordable housing, something to get them out of the garbage huts and employ those who are able to work. The presentation is well done, as they’ve been working together on it for weeks now, calculating figures and drawing up designs and attempting to determine the amount of profit that _could_ potentially be made from something so . . . risky.

“I hate it when you joke around, Char,” her father says stiffly after a few minutes, putting his cigar out to fold his napkin and stuff it into his lap. “Must you reduce yourself to a laughing stock? No one will ever take you seriously if you only strive for laughter and smiles.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I was only trying to be charming.”

He doesn’t speak again after that. 

Charlie can’t seem to take her eyes off Reeve for a minute, however, not even to eat the delicious food set in front of her. Reeve presents the information in a way that sounds most professional, captivating everyone’s attention as he presents facts and figures, several technical drawings, cost and profit analyses, potential future opportunities that may stem from subsidized housing, proof that their budget would be able to support some extra employees should any of the grounders seek work in exchange for their apartment.

Her father, happily eating the lobster on his plate, is most displeased. 

Charlie knows the only reason President Shinra approved the project in the first place was because it was doomed to fail with the limited budget offered to them. She thinks it highly unlikely he would have signed off on it had he realized she would be so successful with the many fundraisers she’s put on of late, but it’s too late to scrap the project now, not when so much money has been donated.

And with all the negative press that Shinra has been receiving lately, Charlie is sure that her father is pleased with the positive attention the company has been receiving on behalf of the new project.

“I hope you know this is folly,” President Shinra remarks after Reeve pulls up a graph of projected mako use in the slums after the housing is built. It pulls Charlie’s attention away from Reeve, most reluctantly. She does love it when business jargon spews from his mouth. “The slum-dwellers don’t want your help. If you build so much as the frame of a single house, they would tear it down out of spite before it was finished.”

“We were down there, papa,” Charlie whispers, looking down to realize she hasn’t touched any of her food yet. “They have no power in most places, no drinkable water. They were begging us for help.”

“If I agreed to help every person who begged me for help, I would have run this company into the ground a long time ago.” He sighs, glancing up at Reeve on stage, who seems to have forgotten the world around him, focused solely on his work and presentation, which seems to be going over rather well with the audience . . . as it should, as the majority of people in the audience are people that Charlie has known since she was little, people with money and compassion for others, people far removed from her own father’s views on business. “If you want to run the company, you must show a certain amount of ruthlessness. You need to learn how to say ‘no’.”

Charlie doesn’t have the courage to tell her father this probably isn’t the best place to be having this conversation. “Then I suppose it’s lucky that Rufus will inherit the company, and not me.”

A muscle jumps in her father’s cheek, anger coloring his face. 

“. . . thank President Shinra for his generosity . . .”

He reaches out for her wrist, his hand hidden beneath the tablecloth, gripping Charlie’s wrist so tight that she’s sure it will bruise. She tenses, looking her father in the eyes for a long time.

“. . . and my darling bride-to-be for all of the time and energy she’s put into helping my ideas come to life . . .”

Reeve gestures affectionately down at Charlie, who puts a smile on, her hand still restricted by her father’s strong grip. As everyone’s attention is turned towards her and President Shinra, he releases her wrist and returns to his cigar, relighting it and remaining silent until Reeve is finished with his presentation and speech.

“You were wonderful,” she tells him as she sits back down at the table, slightly flushed, his hairline damp with sweat. Regardless, she kisses him on the mouth, just to make sure there’s no possible way her father can avoid the scene. “I must have had the best view in the entire place.”

“You’ve hardly eaten any of your food,” Reeve notes, glancing up awkwardly at President Shinra, who looks away from Charlie as if trying to pretend she’s not with them. 

“How could I, while you were standing up there looking so handsome?” Charlie sighs dreamily, watching Reeve cut his meat with his beautiful hands, long fingers pressed against the hilt of his knife. “Will you buy me something expensive from the auction?”

“Anything,” Reeve replies with a tight-lipped smile, eating very quickly to make up for all the time he spent on stage. “So long as you can find somewhere in your office to put it.” He looks away from Charlie, his loving smile fading when he meets President Shinra’s cold and glazed-over eyes. “Charlotte was very glad that you were able to come, Mr. President, as am I.”

“Don’t joke with me, boy,” President Shinra replies with gruff laughter. “We all know that it’s Rufus she wants here, not me.”

Reeve clears his throat, and quietly urges Charlie to finish her dinner before it gets too cold. Charlie picks up her fork, pushing around the rice on her plate. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t let Rufus come,” she mutters bitterly. “He wanted to come tonight. He told me so himself.”

“I’m certain your brother tells you a great many things,” President Shinra retorts, looking ready to slap her, but he wouldn’t dare, not here. “ _Too_ many things, if you ask me. Rufus is far too fond of you. If anything, your marriage will force him to keep his distance.”

“Rufus is lonely at the beach house,” Charlie counters, wishing her brother _were_ here instead of her father. “All of his friends are here.”

“His Turks, you mean?” President Shinra scoffs, turning to face his daughter. “Tseng’s a good and loyal boy, but he’s not Rufus’s friend. He’s a Shinra employee. We can only hope he does not make the same mistake you did, Char.”

Reeve and Charlie meet eyes. That’s all it takes for him to blurt out, “Did Charlotte tell you we set a date for the wedding?”

“What’s this now?” her father asks, sounding almost happy, his eyes wide with surprise. If there’s anything that her father loves more than his company, it’s discussing the details of his daughter’s wedding as if it were his own. “Did you? When?”

“In the spring,” Charlie tells him. “The first of May.”

“A spring wedding! Excellent, excellent.”

Not counting Reeve’s mother, Charlie genuinely believes her father to be the person most excited about this marriage. President Shinra loves to boast about how he had enthusiastically consented to Reeve’s request of his daughter’s hand in marriage, and loves to remind everyone how generous he is by bringing up his promise to pay for the entire wedding. 

Charlie knows that her father can be short with Reeve, but she also knows that her father is fond of Reeve in a way he’s not fond of any of his other subordinates. President Shinra is a little more lenient, a little more patient, reminding her of her father’s interactions with Rufus. Reeve has done good work for the company, and her father certainly has acknowledged that fact. 

She remembers the day her father had found out about their involvement. It had come a few months after their first sleeping together, and Charlie had declined Rufus’s offer to stay the weekend in Costa del Sol, instead choosing to stay the weekend with Reeve. Rufus had immediately informed President Shinra about Charlie’s involvement with a Shinra employee, but it had backfired horribly on him. 

President Shinra had invited them to dinner the very next night, and it had been the best dinner she’d ever had with her father. The three of them—Charlie, her father, and Reeve—had talked all night, and she had joked around without being scolded, and for a moment, it’s like her failure of a launch had never happened. 

Her father had taken her home that night, just the two of them sitting in the back of a car that was near silent on the road, and as it pulled up to the front of her apartment building, President Shinra had looked at her for a long time.

“You take care of that boy, Charlotte,” he had told her.

“I will, daddy,” she had answered. 

Talk of their wedding seems to keep President Shinra happy the rest of the evening, which makes Charlie happy, and it makes her even happier when her father decides to bid on an oil painting for his office, grumbling only slightly about what his money will be used for. 

* * *

“Where’s Reeve? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He and Father are meeting about a new reactor design today,” Charlie replies, her eyes closed to shield the sun from them, bright even through her dark sunglasses. The warm sun feels good against her exposed skin. “Besides, I don’t think Reeve has ever taken a vacation in his life.”

“He’s very serious, isn’t he?” Rufus asks, hands behind his head as the sun beats down on his own fair skin. 

“Not always,” she admits. “He can be very funny when he chooses to be. I wouldn’t have agreed to marry him if he wasn’t able to make me laugh. Besides, I think he knows better than to joke with _you_.”

“I wonder why you’ve agreed to marry him at all,” her brother replies mockingly, scoffing. For a moment, they listen to the soft crashing of the waves. “I always thought you might have married Tseng.”

“Why? He hardly speaks to me. He’s _your_ friend, not mine,” Charlie lies, genuinely surprised by this. She opens her eyes, propping herself on an elbow to look at her brother. For all his years of living here in Costa del Sol, he’s failed to attain a decent tan, still very pale.

“He’s younger than Reeve,” Rufus tells her, “and the girls all agree that he’s very handsome.”

Charlie frowns, lying back on her chair. “Father would never have allowed me to marry a Turk, even if he is their leader.” Now that she thinks about it, she isn’t at all surprised by Rufus’s passive desire to see her marry the leader of the Turks—his close ties with them are well known to Shinra executives, and it would be far easier for him to keep tabs on his sister if she married a Turk. “I’ve known Reeve since he came to work for Father. He’s handsome, and he has a heart—he’s compassionate, unlike the other cold bastards who work at Headquarters.”

“You mean he’s _weak_ ,” Rufus spits, his tone full of scorn. 

“There’s nothing wrong with caring for other people,” she says, teasing him. “You care about me, and that doesn’t make you weak, does it?”

“He’s nothing like you and me, Charlie,” he explains patiently, always patient with his sister, always gentle, if not a little aloof. “Father might be pleased with your arrangement, but he would never allow Reeve to have any control of the company. The two of you would run it into the ground with your generosity and _compassion_.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re the vice president, and not me,” Charlie says bitterly. “I don’t know why it’s my responsibility to procure a son for you to give the company to when you’re dead. Are you incapable of producing a son for yourself? Do you need to be taught how?”

“No, I wouldn’t want to make Reeve jealous, would I?” He bares his perfect teeth in a malicious smile. “Don’t worry, sweet sister. The company will soon be ours, and if Father wants it out of your hands so badly, he can take it back over my dead body.”

“Father has years left to him.”

“Only if we’re unlucky, and I happen to be spectacularly lucky.”

“Will you really give me the Space Exploration Department, Rufus?” Charlie asks, eager to hear his confirmation again. The thought of perfecting the rocket that is now the main attraction for Rocket Town (aptly named, she thinks), the place where her base had once sprawled upon an open field at the base of Shinra No. 26, is still attractive to her, and still within reach so long as her father doesn’t outlive either of them. “I’ve been drawing up plans for the last year, even though they’re useless. Palmer wouldn’t even know what to do with them.”

“Palmer knows how to do two things relatively well: eat, and cower in fear from those more powerful, and much richer, than him.”

Charlie snorts, laughing softly. “You’re not wrong.” After another moment, she sighs heavily. “I don’t want to give speeches anymore. The people love me, and all I do is lie to them.”

Rufus turns his head to look at her, strands of blond hair falling into his eyes. “Don’t think of them as lies, then,” he suggests, shrugging his sunburnt shoulders, lightly freckled and not quite so broad without a trimmed suit on him. “Think of it as . . . you’re reassuring the public, appeasing them. You’re making them happy, comfortable, and you want to keep it that way, don’t you?”

With increasing pressure from several anti-Shinra newspapers that have recently published damning articles about the damage that mako reactors have done to the Planet, Charlie knows that it’s important to keep up the image of a stable company with the bettering of peoples’ lives at the core of their priorities. 

“Yes,” she confesses, but she isn’t sure it’s the truth. 

“Father says that it’s your woman’s heart that makes you soft,” Rufus muses, letting his eyes flutter closed again as a few bikini-clad girls walk by, whispering excitedly behind their hands at the sight of Rufus. “But I disagree, because I’ve seen women three times as fierce as you—Scarlet, for instance, even if she is the world’s biggest cunt. I think what makes you soft is that you know what it’s like to have something stolen away from you. You _sympathize_ with those people.”

“You think I want to be president so badly?” 

“Do you?”

“No,” Charlie answers, but it’s a lie. She won’t pretend to herself that she hasn’t imagined it, fantasized about it, whispered it—her deepest desire, her dream—to Reeve after making love to him. “You’re the one that’s been groomed for it. I wouldn’t even know what to do.” She keeps an eye on the girls as they look over their shoulders once more towards her brother, who continues to pay them no mind. “You have enemies, I’m sure, but I’m not one of them, Rufus.”

Rufus humphs, his chest rising and falling slowly as if falling asleep. 

“Where’s your pup, Rufus? Don’t you bring Dark Nation to the beach?”

“Not since he scared away the only good-looking girl here.” Rufus opens one eye to look at her, perhaps to gauge her reaction. “What do you want me to do? Put him on a leash? Tie him up in the sand?”

Charlie smiles, wondering how long she can tease Rufus this time before he snaps. “I’ve heard pets take after their owners.”

To her surprise, she receives a rare, genuine smile of his own in return, a flash of brilliantly white teeth. “Is that what you think?”

“A scary and dangerous looking thing, soft only for _me_?” Charlie shrugs innocently, looking out at the clear blue water. “That sounds exactly like you.”

“Gods, I hate it when you joke around, Charlie.”

“You’re so droll. You’ve no sense of humor. Sometimes I wonder why I even spend time with you.”

“I can be funny and witty. I can make jokes,” Rufus retorts coldly and defensively, shifting in his chair and stiffening. Witty and funny are certainly not words Charlie would ever use to describe her brother. “I just choose not to be. Nobody will ever take you seriously, Char.”

“I can be serious,” Charlie answers, lifting an eyebrow at the use of her father’s nickname for her, and the use of one of their father’s favorite criticisms. “I just choose not to be.”

“Very funny.”

“That was the point.” 

“How was your auction?” Rufus asks lazily, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Buy anything pretty?”

“Reeve bought me a lovely diamond tiara,” Charlie sighs, smiling at the very thought of it. It had been heavy on her head, but perfect in size and fit, like it was meant for her. “I was able to secure some funding, but not enough. We’re still two hundred thousand gil short of what we wanted, not that I’ve told Father that.”

“How is Father, anyway?”

“Vile,” Charlie responds right away. “All he does is criticize my every word, and I think his sole purpose in life is to shame me every time he speaks to Reeve.” When she notices Rufus’s frown deepen at the mention of Reeve’s name, his eyes still gazing out towards the horizon, she asks quickly, “Why do you dislike him, Rufus? Reeve hasn’t done anything to you. He’s been more than accommodating, I think.”

“It’s nothing that he’s _done_ , per se,” Rufus answers begrudgingly. “Unless you count the corruption of my sweet sister as an offense.”

“Speak for yourself,” Charlie murmurs, but he hears her all the same, choosing to remain silent. “I know the people _you’ve_ chosen to associate with. Those Turks are far worse than Reeve ever was, is, or will be. I don’t trust Reno _or_ Elena in the slightest.”

“You don’t like Elena because she reminds you of that girl,” Rufus chuckles darkly, “remember? What was her name? The one that ran off with your captain?”

“What does it matter? That was years ago, and I’m engaged to Reeve now.”

“Even I have to admit that Reeve is better than that illiterate cowboy.” He chuckles darkly to himself, making Charlie roll her eyes. “You’re not going to take his last name, are you?”

“Why? Don’t want your sister being a Tuesti?”

Rufus grimaces. “I bet you would love that, wouldn’t you? You would have given up the Shinra name a long time ago if you could have, I’m sure.” He heaves a great sigh, inhaling the clean air. “Father won’t be happy when you give him a grandson with that stupid last name.”

“Whatever children I have, they won’t be Father’s,” Charlie reminds him, snorting slightly. She lifts one of her legs after it begins to stick to the chair. “I would be proud to have children with Reeve’s last name. They’ll be perfect no matter what.”

“There’s no denying they’ll be smart, at least.”

In truth, Charlie can’t really ever remember a time where Rufus and Reeve got along as friends, let alone friendly acquaintances. Neither of them share the same interests, neither of them have the same goals, neither of them have similar personalities. While Reeve is polite and courteous towards others and strangers and, especially, Rufus, her brother takes it upon himself to make Reeve as uncomfortable as possible, interrogating him about his intentions with Charlie, bringing up past mistakes, cold and bitter and unafraid to offend.

Charlie knows that he’s only protective, and it’s always been like that. Rufus has never liked the idea of her dating, especially when she had been younger, and when she had shown more interest in one man than others, Rufus would immediately attempt to stop things from going any further than appropriate. It happened with Cid, and he tried desperately to make it happen with Reeve, but Reeve wasn’t about to be scared away so easily. 

“All right, I’ll do it,” Rufus says suddenly, startling her. 

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll fund the rest of your slum project,” he explains, and it takes a moment for Charlie to realize he’s being completely serious. “You say you need two hundred thousand, I’ll give you five hundred thousand.”

Floored, Charlie sits up straight in her chair, looking down at her brother. “Oh, Rufus, you don’t have to use your own money!” she whispers, reaching out to wrap thin fingers around his wrist. “I wasn’t asking for your help, really—”

“No, it’s settled,” he interrupts, taking her hand and squeezing hard, bringing it to his mouth in order to place a chaste kiss on the inside of her wrist before letting go. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Father will be angry with you.”

“It’s not his money. It’s mine, to do with as I please.” Rufus smiles, but it has neither warmth or kindness in it, and it doesn’t quite extend to his pale blue eyes. “And it would please _me_ to give the money to _you_. When have I ever denied you anything, Charlie?”

“Never.”

Rufus hums in a smug way, and the two of them settle back into a comfortable silence. 

For years, she and Rufus have enjoyed the warm sands and quiet life in Costa del Sol—not just in the four years (or has it been longer?) since Rufus was assigned a “top secret overseas assignment”, either. The Shinra beach house was a place of refuge for Charlie as a little girl, always being left there with Rufus and some Turk to look after them while their father was away on business. 

Her favorite Turk had been an older, stern man named Veld, a man with deep lines in his face and a noticeable lack of smile lines, someone Rufus had admired, and who used to call her “little princess”. 

Sometimes he would read her fairy-tale stories before bed, and when he did that, Charlie remembers how sad his face had always looked when he said “good-night” afterwards and left her in the dark. Other times, when he took her to the open market for something to buy, he would hold her little girl's body up upon his strong shoulders so she could see over everyone’s heads. 

And some nights, when the beach house seemed too far away to walk to after a long day of playing in the sand or swimming or walking around the town, Veld would scoop her up into his arms, supporting her with his sturdy prosthetic one as she slept against his shoulder, half her body damp and covered in sand, her hair tangled from the water. 

It’s been years since she’s even seen or heard from or about Veld, his resignation having come as a surprise to her under mysterious circumstances that Rufus wouldn’t explain to her, and just like that, he was gone from her life.

Tseng had been one of her favorites, as well, before he had become the leader. He had been quiet and content to let Charlie and Rufus do what they pleased without much concern, given that they had been old enough to care for themselves at the time. He had only been a few years older than Charlie—the two of them got along quite well when they walked the city together, but while she liked to sunbathe on the beach, Tseng would sit right beside her, sweating in his dark blue suit, still and silent as a statue. 

Now, the few remaining Turks—save Tseng—are all a little quirky and less intimidating than Veld had been, but they’re Rufus’s only friends, so Charlie tries wholeheartedly to be friendly with them.

“Excuse me—?”

Charlie lowers her sunglasses to better see the figure standing over her, unfamiliar and bulky, a tight little swimsuit hugging his narrow waist. “Yes?” she asks impatiently, looking him up and down, his dark hair slicked back and his skin leathery and tanned. 

“Are you—” The man looks nervously over his shoulder, towards two other men nodding at him eagerly. He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at Charlie again. “Are you Charlotte Shinra?”

“Yes,” she answers curtly. 

He looks relieved to hear her say so. “Right,” he says, “do you think my friend could get a picture with you?”

“My sister is not here for your amusement,” Rufus hisses, startling the man. 

“Yes, Mr. Vice President . . . sorry, ma’am—Miss Shinra—” The man runs back to his friends, clearly shaken, and it amuses Charlie that someone half the man’s size had cowed him so easily with a few choice words. 

Rufus continues to mutter under his breath, but sighs contently after settling back against his chair once more. 

Charlie gives her head a shake, laughing to herself. “You’re a bastard, Rufus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a fun fact for you: i started writing this ten years ago. thanks for your support of the most self-indulgent piece of writing i've probably ever done in my life.


	3. Chapter 3

“I want to know how some filthy, slum-dwelling terrorists are getting their hands on inside information, boy, and I want to know _now!_ ” President Shinra slams down a wrinkled newspaper page atop his desk.

He cranes his neck to read the headline that has infuriated his father so. 

**M.I.A. VICE PRESIDENT FUNDS URBAN DEVELOPMENT DEPARTMENT’S CONTROVERSIAL SLUM HOUSING PROJECT**

Rufus’s lips twitch. 

“Is this true?” his father hisses, red in the face. “You funded your sister’s ridiculous, wishful little project?”

“To be fair,” he answers, raising his eyebrows, a smug smile on his fair face, “the project is technically Reeve’s, and he’s to be my brother-in-law soon. Consider it my wedding gift to them.”

Rufus’s mocking words are answered by a hard blow to his cheek, gold rings connecting with his sharp cheekbones and making him stumble briefly to his knees (though he doesn’t shout), clutching the throbbing skin of his face. With as much dignity as he can muster, with a rage burning in his chest, he straightens up in front of a fuming President Shinra. 

“Their little project was supposed to fail, not be bolstered out of the spite you carry for me,” President Shinra replies, uncaring about the bright pink handprint on his son’s face. Rufus breathes rather heavily, nostrils flared and his lips pressed tight together to keep him from speaking. “You wanted to make yourself look like some little hero, I’m sure? As soon as you promised Char the money, you just _had_ to write the truth about it to some anti-Shinra newspaper? Is that it, boy?”

“I didn’t send any information to any newspaper,” Rufus says through gritted teeth. He smooths out the jacket of his suit, ignoring the stinging of his cheek. “You greatly underestimate Charlie, Father. If you knew her at all, you would have known that their project would be successful from the very beginning.”

“And you think you know my own daughter better than I do?” President Shinra asks testily, considering Rufus with beady eyes. 

“Of course I do,” Rufus scoffs. “If you _really_ knew her at all, you would know she prefers to be called Charlie.”

“I didn’t call you here to listen to your _cheek_ ,” the president snaps, a muscle twitching in his cheek. It makes Rufus want to laugh in his father’s face. After a moment, President Shinra stops pacing, lowering his voice as if letting Rufus in on a little secret. “You think I don’t know Char . . . I know Char better than anyone, even you. She’s just like your mother was, no matter what I’ve done to try and stamp it out of her.”

Rufus is silent. It’s laughable to listen to his father claim to know Charlie, when he has done everything in his power to distance himself (and Rufus) from her for as long as he can remember. 

“I know those ignorant people down below the plate have a great respect for Char, and a grudging one for her fiancé, as well,” his father continues. “Even some of them above the plate, they worship your sister because she is so different. You should see what they write in these newspapers . . . ‘the only Shinra with a heart’, they say . . .” He scowls at the newspaper, crumpling it up again and throwing it violently into a waste bin. “If I knew it wouldn’t start a rebellion in the slums, I would have disowned that girl four years ago, after she failed to send that pilot into space.

“As it happens, your sister has proven very adept at projecting a positive image of the company to the people. But she’s defiant, and I know I am not blameless. I’ve let her get away with too much. I was careless, and loath to deny her certain freedoms. I wasn’t as hard on her as I should have been when she was young.”

“A shame,” Rufus notes coldly. 

“Yes, a shame,” his father echoes, looking terribly cruel as he smiles twistedly. “No doubt your sister knows very little about your true feelings towards her old department. I do wonder at times if anyone has told her the truth about it. She may not love you so much if she knew you were the first to propose its end.”

Rufus doesn't falter. 

“It’s Char that’s passing information, isn’t it?” It’s not an accusation, not quite, but he says it with such resignation that it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to believe it of his own spawn. 

“If she is, I have no knowledge of it.”

President Shinra makes his way back to his chair, but doesn’t sit down, instead grasping the back of it with a meaty hand until his knuckles turn white. “This engagement of hers . . . it’s good for her, and it’s good for the company,” he tells his son plainly. “But that boy has access to far too much information.”

“He knows less than you think. The others . . . are not fond of him like Charlie is.” 

“Still, I want to know what he’s saying to her. I will acknowledge he’s a bit more faint-of-heart than our other department heads.”

“Save Palmer, perhaps.”

His father snorts. “Yes . . . save Palmer . . . it pains me to see someone so incapable running a department, even one that has been stripped of funding . . . but he does as he’s told, unlike your sister, so I’ll keep him close for now. But don’t keep me talking, Rufus. If Char is passing information, I want proof, _now_.”

“What do you propose, Father?”

“I want a Turk dogging her every move,” President Shinra says quickly, stroking his mustache. “She goes nowhere I don’t know about. Anything out of the ordinary, I want them reporting straight back, do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

As Rufus turns to leave his father’s office, he stops at the sound of his name. 

“Yes?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Char _will_ marry that boy. It’s a far better match for her than I could have hoped for, and he loves her well enough.” President Shinra looks more flustered than angry, as if he shouldn’t have to make this statement. “I won’t have you meddling. Understood?”

Rufus hums, turning back around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your sister is happy. Leave her be.”

“Yes, Father.”

* * *

“I don’t have time to argue with you about it, Enzio. Sixty thousand, you told me, and I haven’t seen one gil from you,” Charlie says quickly into the phone cradled between her shoulder and her cheek, directing her assistant silently as she holds up a framed magazine cover to the wall, a cover that features Charlie’s own smiling face. “All the money is being funneled into weapons development. You promised me sixty thousand at the auction, and it’s five days until construction starts. I told you I had a deadline.”

“ _And what’s this I hear about your brother funding the project?_ ”

“You know Rufus wouldn’t dare put money towards anything that would reach the slums,” she lies baldly, gesturing for Pia to raise the cover higher on the wall to line up with the other magazine covers that blanket the white wall. The young girl stretches her arms as high as they can go and Charlie nods, giving her a thumbs-up. 

“ _If I give you even one gil, I’ll never see it again. You know there’s no profit to be made off your building,_ ” Enzio replies, but his words go in one ear and out the other. Someone knocks on Charlie’s office door and opens it, but it’s only Reeve, who instantly smiles at the sight of the magazines and nods in greeting to Pia. 

“You heard Reeve at the auction,” she says, widening her eyes at him and grinning as Reeve sits in one of the chairs tucked into the corner of her office. “We’re offering employment with Shinra Inc. to those who choose to move into a unit, _and_ that includes training, which means they’ll be making good money with whatever job they choose to pursue. Mako prices are going to be steadily increased with each year of employment. You would know that if you’d been paying more attention to the presentation and less attention to the alcohol.”

“ _You haven’t changed one bit, Charlie._ ”

“You’ll get your money back, Enzio.”

“ _Yeah yeah . . . haven’t seen your brother in a long time. How is he doing?_ ”

“He’s fine. He’s on business overseas. Listen, Enzio, I have to go, but I need to know I can count on you,” Charlie says, smiling again at Reeve’s soft laughter. “I want my sixty thousand and I’ll get you that private meeting with Reeve you’ve been asking about.”

“ _Damn you. All right, I’ll have thirty thousand—_ ”

“Sixty.”

“ _Fine. I’ll have sixty thousand set aside for your project, and I want a meeting with Reeve beginning of next week._ ”

“That’s no good, Enzio.”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“Because Reeve and I are going out of town at the beginning of next week. Shinra is hosting a fundraiser at the Gold Saucer. Did you hear we’re getting married?” Charlie asks, urging Reeve to look through the magazine while he waits. He picks one up from a box of seventy-five, flipping through it with interest.

“ _Yeah, I heard. Your father called me to tell me. First time I’ve spoken to your father in years. Is he a good man, child?_ ”

She glances up sheepishly at the man standing across from her. “He’s not Father, if that’s what you’re asking, and he treats me very well.”

Enzio hesitates on the other end of the line, an old man that she’s known since birth, but has grown further and further apart from her father with the way he’s been taking the direction of Shinra Inc. “ _If your father finds out that I’ve contributed to your_ —”

“He won’t find out. I have a _very_ good accountant.”

This gives him pause again, but after a moment he says, “ _We’ll talk about that meeting, Charlie. Have your accountant give me a call. And congratulations. Tell your brother I said hello._ ”

“Excellent, I will. I’ll send you an invitation to the fundraiser at the Gold Saucer. Rufus will be there, and I’ll introduce you to Reeve.” Charlie hangs up the phone and sighs happily. “Pia, have my accountant call Enzio, and tell him I expect sixty thousand—don’t let Enzio cheat him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once her assistant has left the room, Charlie leans back against her desk and crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you think about the magazine?” She picks up another one out of the box, reading the cover (Woman of the Year: Charlotte Shinra—Heiress, Aeronautical Engineer, Midgar’s Golden Child). 

“We’ll frame it, and put it on the wall at home with the others,” Reeve remarks, standing up from his chair to kiss her on the cheek. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal a copy for my own office?”

“No, of course not,” she says, biting down on her lower lip and flipping through the pages. She had given the interview months ago, long before Reeve had finally asked her to marry him, so none of the pictures they had taken feature her engagement ring, unfortunately. Closing the magazine to look at the cover again, she brushes the pad of her thumb over the words they’ve used to describe her. “Aeronautical engineer,” she sighs. “I’m not really one of those anymore, am I?”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m not really an architect anymore, either.”

Charlie laughs half-heartedly at his attempt to cheer her. “I worked so hard to earn that title, doubly so in a field dominated by men, and now . . .” Her lips tighten. “I was the Head of the Space Exploration Department at _twenty-two_. I was a genius, and now . . .”

“Well, I don’t think your genius just quite goes away,” Reeve jokes, and if it were anyone else making jokes right now, Charlie doesn’t think she would be able to stay so calm. “You’re still a genius, even if you’re too modest to admit it.”

Charlie scoffs, rolling her eyes at him. “Director of Communications. Not quite as exciting a title, I think.”

“On the contrary, I think it sounds rather powerful,” Reeve confesses, raising his eyebrows and wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close. They both look down at the magazine in his hand, at her smiling face, at her flushed cheeks and perfect hair. “And you happen to be terribly, terribly good at your job.”

“I was terribly, terribly good at my last job, too,” she says sadly as he presses a kiss to her temple. “I’ve been doing this for four years now, and I’ve done everything my father has asked of me. I can’t go on like this, Reeve. I can’t keep . . . _lying_ to everyone.”

A crease appears between Reeve’s eyebrows. “What do you suppose you’re lying to everyone about?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, shrugging her shoulders and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “I can’t prove it, but I know that I’m lying. Sometimes things . . . don’t add up, do you know what I mean? And there’s so many questions left unanswered . . .”

“Let’s not speak of this here, at least,” he urges, not unkindly. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight, to celebrate the cover? It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Charlie clears her throat, blinking back the tears that have suddenly threatened to fall. She doesn’t know what’s brought them on so suddenly, and it doesn’t seem as if Reeve has noticed, or if he has, he’s just tactful. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, actually,” she says, hoping he doesn’t question it. “I’ve been putting off a lot of my own things to help _you_ , you know. I was planning on working late tonight.”

“You know I appreciate all that you’ve done for me,” Reeve assures her, looking down into her face and kissing the very tip of her nose. “You may not know this, but I am a horrible fundraiser.”

“Oh, no, I definitely know that,” she teases, accepting one more kiss from him, feeling his mouth curve into a smile against her lips. It’s the truth, too. He’s never been as pushy or as persistent as Charlie is, unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer, while Reeve might just step aside after being brushed off the first time. “You don’t have to wait up for me, all right?”

“You’re going to work yourself to death.” 

“You’re one to talk.”

He rolls up the magazine in his hand and steps backwards towards the door. “Hey—” he says again when Charlie looks away—“I love you.”

She smiles sweetly. “I know. I love you, too.” 

Charlie sits back down in her chair after he leaves, tapping the glass desktop with her fingernails and thinking hard. While her current job is rewarding and pays well and offers her a chance to travel about three times a month for work-related purposes, it’s not the job she would have chosen for herself after being dismissed from the Space Exploration Department. 

Turning back towards her computer, she opens her e-mail. The first and newest e-mail is from someone she’s never heard of before, but the subject line reads: _ROCKET SCRAP METAL - URGENT._ Charlie clicks on it, hoping against hope that it’s not _her_ rocket the e-mail is referencing. 

_Miss Shinra,_

_I am sending this e-mail from Rocket Town, where we have had several inquiries into whether or not we could break down Shinra No. 26 for scrap metal, given that construction on several new developments to the east have begun, and could use the scrap metal for roofing and automobiles. One such request has been submitted by none other than your current Head of Space Exploration Department, Palmer, who intends to bring the metal back to Midgar to, presumably, sell it for himself or use it in the production of a new reactor._

_You must understand that we are loath to remove the rocket that has given our town its namesake, and Captain Cid has made it plain that the rocket is not to be touched by anyone other than himself, and he has also led us to believe you would have the same view. However, we are essentially powerless against the company, and fear that we are fighting a losing battle._

_If there is anything that you are able to do to preserve Shinra No. 26, Rocket Town would be very grateful to you. The rocket is not only a tourist attraction now, but our legacy, and the majority of our town would hate to see it reduced to nothing but scraps._

_Sincerely,_

_Oster Gapaul_

Charlie sits back in her chair after reading the entirety of the e-mail. When she reads it for a second time, only one word sticks out in the whole of it: _Cid_. It’s hard to believe that Oster is referring to the same Cid she once worked on the rocket with, four years ago, for surely Cid wouldn’t stay in Rocket Town with nothing but bitter memories and the reminder of his failure looming over his head. She wonders when he ever left Junon, if it was in the aftermath of the launch, or recently. 

Even _she_ hasn’t gone back since the day of the launch. She’s flown over it, admired it from a distance, but never deigned to set foot again in the place where her life had been ruined, her reputation and future tainted. 

She checks the time. The sun has gone down, and it’s far too late to make a surprise visit to a Rocket Town. Eagerly, she replies to Oster with a solid promise that she will fly to Rocket Town in the morning to speak with him and to look at her rocket. 

Charlie has to read the next e-mail through three times to even understand what’s been said, her mind half a world away with Cid, in Rocket Town. 

_Charlie,_

_Hope you like the article. LOVELESS is playing Thursday at 9. See you there?_

_Jessie_

Glancing down at the newspaper sitting by her feet, the newly reformed _Shinra Truths_ that angered her father to the point of silence, Charlie quickly confirms the time and date Jessie has suggested, running a hand through her hair and turning off her computer to prevent nosy employees from snooping through her mail and finding out President Shinra’s own daughter has been meeting with a trusted member of Avalanche. 

As Charlie locks up her office, Pia is just getting ready to leave, turning off the floor lamps that are much warmer than the glaring fluorescent ones overhead and watering some plants. “Heading home so soon, ma’am?” she asks in her breathy and high-pitched voice, mousy brown hair pinned back at the nape of her neck. 

“No, down to the hangar,” Charlie answers, adjusting the bag full of clothes on her shoulder. “Did Rufus call at all today?”

“No, ma’am.”

Not bothering to hide her disappointment in front of the trusted assistant she’s had for three years now (a record, truthfully, as no assistant has successfully managed to assist her for longer than a few months at a time), Charlie nods. “Tomorrow morning, I need you to send Enzio an invitation to the fundraiser coming up, at the Gold Saucer.”

“Of course,” Pia replies. 

“And if you could do one more thing,” she continues, hesitating for reasons unknown to herself. “See if you can find out why Palmer wants to scrap the rocket at Rocket Town.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pia tells her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It helps that Pia runs in a certain circle of infamous eco-terrorists, occasionally able to discreetly pass messages, always looking so damned innocent and afraid, loyal to Charlotte, to Reeve, and to no one else.

Charlie had interviewed Pia herself. She had interviewed them all herself, all forty-five of them who had applied for the job as her assistant after her previous one, Penny, a round woman in her late twenties, had fallen victim to Rufus’s charm, spying on Charlie in exchange for a few whispered words, a few empty promises. 

At the end of every interview, Charlie had asked the same question: “Why do you want to work for Shinra Electric Power Company?”

Most of the answers had been the same. Those forty-four women wanted to be apart of something that would change the world, they wanted to make peoples’ lives better, they wanted to contribute to the betterment of Midgar.

Pia had smiled when Charlie asked that question, the youngest girl to have interviewed by far. Charlie’s patience had been wearing thin by then, her forty-fifth interview, having given them all a fair chance, a fair opportunity. It had taken her a little while to answer, and Charlie had asked again, “Did you hear me? Is this going to be a problem?”

“I don’t want to work for Shinra Electric Power Company, ma’am,” she had said, and Charlie hadn’t been able to find words for a few seconds after that. “I want to work for _you_.”

Charlie had given Pia the job directly after that. When Pia proved immune to Rufus’s charm, Charlie had been sure she made the right choice. Charlie still has no doubts about her. Pia’s proven that she’s able to keep her mouth shut, never speaks unless spoken to, provides information where she can, and has never once questioned Charlie. 

Looking down at Pia’s desk, Charlie narrows her eyes at a blank envelope sitting atop it. “What’s this?” she asks her assistant, reaching for it.

“It’s your father’s preferred guest list for your wedding. Director Tuesti made me promise not to bother you with it tonight, so I didn’t mention it.”

Charlie frowns, setting her bag down and taking the paper out of the envelope. It’s indeed a guest list for her wedding, but all the names are not people she would want to invite. It’s all the department heads and their wives, husbands, brothers, mistresses, families that are well-connected to her father and uninterested in her own personal affairs. She folds it up and tucks it away in the pocket of her blouse.

“Thanks, Pia. I’ll take care of it.”

She’s glad the hangar is empty when she reaches it, and the first thing she does is change into clothes a little less expensive, clothes she doesn’t mind dirtying, and immediately sets to work on the plane she’s been rebuilding, one that had been shot down years ago and left to its fate in the shadowy hangar at Shinra Headquarters.

The idea of visiting Rocket Town tomorrow fills her with a horrible sense of dread. Seeing her rocket again from the base of it, just as she had all those years ago, makes her nervous, anxious, and her hands shake, making work a little more difficult. 

But it would be sweet to see Cid again, if he isn’t still harboring a years’ old grudge against her for only doing her job. She wonders how much he’s changed since the last time she saw him, if he’s aged much in the past four years, if he’s still working on his Tiny Bronco, if he’s still working on Shinra No. 26. 

There’s no doubt in her mind that Cid knows far more about her than she knows about him. There’s no doubt that he’s read the papers and magazines, watched her sometime on television or heard her randomly on the radio, and she knows that it’s very likely Cid knows about her engagement to Reeve . . . 

Not that it matters to her. It’s not like she thought she and Cid were ever going to get married. He had told her he loved her on a whim, just before he thought he was going to be launched space for an indefinite amount of time, probably lonely and infatuated with the idea of her, just like the other boys in the city who see her smiling face all over the town, on billboards and advertisements. 

Besides, it’s not like he’s going to want to spend any time with her. She doesn’t really think Cid will be interested in catching up. He probably still hates her.

Charlie doesn’t really blame him. She hates herself, too. 

* * *

For a moment, he can’t even speak, but once he does find his voice, it’s only to blurt out: “What the _fuck_ is this supposed to be?”

The bartender colors, his forehead covered with sweat. He’s in the middle of hanging a framed magazine cover on the wall of his bar, half of which is currently covered in newspaper clippings and other magazine articles that aren’t normally there. “W—what do you mean, Captain?”

“I mean,” Cid begins again, slowly, disbelieving, furious and bitter and incredibly inadequate and holding his drink so tightly that the glass threatens to shatter, “why the _fuck_ is Charlotte Shinra’s face plastered all over your fuckin’ wall?”

The bartender finishes his work, stepping off the stool to admire it. Charlotte’s face smiles down at him from fifty different photographs, articles, and covers. “She’s coming tomorrow morning to take a look at the rocket,” he explains cautiously, looking, if possible, even sweatier. “She told Oster as much after he sent an e-mail—”

Cid feels the blood leave his face, every muscle in his body tensing. “She what?”

The man nods, frazzled. “She’s gonna protect it from her father’s company—Oster said that she said she won’t let anyone scrap it, just like _you_ said she would.” When Cid doesn’t answer, the bartender gestures to his nearly empty glass. “Another drink, Captain?”

He hardly hears, his mind half a world away in Midgar, with Lottie. 

Charlotte Shinra, coming _here_ , to _Rocket Town?_ The idea is equal parts attractive and repulsive to him. It would be nice to share with an equal the world he's done on the interior of the cockpit and the few bits of rust he fought off and the parts he had to replace.

_Don’t get ahead of yourself,_ he thinks. It’s not like Charlotte Shinra is going to show up at Rocket Town alone, and it’s not like she’ll have the time to entertain him by ‘ooh’ing and ‘ah’ing every minor improvement he’s made, and it’s not like she’ll be pleased to find Shera living in his goddamn house, and it’s not like he even fucking wants her to go off alone with him because he knows what she is, despite the magazine labeling her as ‘Midgar’s Golden Child’. 

Ruthless, ambitious, standing on the shoulders of the less fortunate, the heiress of a fortune that comprises almost solely of blood money. 

But that doesn’t quite line up with his other memories of her. Memories that involve shared laughter and shy smiles, an open generosity on her end, clear respect and love for her crew, a wide-eyed girl with big dreams, a girl that was raging jealous when she’d caught him coming back to camp with that Turk . . . if Lottie only knew that he’d forgotten her name now . . . 

“Captain, are you all right?” the bartender asks, concern etched in the lines of his face. “You look like you’re gonna throw up.

Cid, brought back violently to reality again, scowls at the bartender, finishing his drink and getting to his feet, throwing some gil at the man, who scurries to pick it up off the ground. “I’m fine,” he snaps, pushing out of the bar and feeling the eyes of the other occupants on the back of his neck. 

The moment he feels the cool, night air rush against his face, he lights a cigarette, ignoring the calls of other people taking advantage of what may be the last nice night until spring again. With the cigarette still pressed between his lips, burning low as he reaches the Shinra No. 26, Cid climbs the ladders that will lead him to the very top of the rocket, where the platform is littered with empty and crushed beer cans, an empty fifth of whiskey, and two empty packs of cigarettes. 

As he makes to sit down, already a little drunk, his foot knocks a few cans off the platform, and they fall slowly to the ground, clattering off the metal ladders and platforms, echoing throughout the night. 

He leans against the cool metal of the rocket, looking up at the full moon and the stars peeking out from behind the clouds. From up here, he’s able to see the field he once brought Lottie to—it’s not so much a field anymore, having been leveled for some houses and shops to be put in, but Cid still recognizes the place exactly and remembers how it had been that night. 

The smartest thing he could possibly do would be to either leave Rocket Town completely or hide away in his house until Lottie left, but he’s no coward. He isn’t _afraid_ of her, but maybe he should be, knowing who her father is, and knowing how seriously unhinged her meddling brother is. 

Besides, he doesn’t want to leave. The townspeople may be under the impression that he hates Lottie and anything to do with Shinra Inc., and for the most part, he’s lived up to that assumption. He despises Shinra Inc., despises President Shinra and his fucking fool son, Vice President Rufus Shinra, despises that goddamn tool Reeve Tuesti, but Lottie . . . 

Not Lottie. Never Lottie.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s unrecognizable, so vastly changed from how it looked four years ago.

It isn’t the polluted and busy city that Midgar is, nor is it the tourist-trap that Costa del Sol has become over the years, but a small town a little bigger than her base camp had been, complete with a church, bakery, post office, and an arms dealer. 

Charlie would guess at least a hundred trees, if not five hundred, have been chopped and cleared to make room for the houses in town, houses that are relatively more expensive-looking than she might have imagined, all of them big enough to hold families of four or five, with many windows, most of them made from timber, with chimneys that release tendrils of gray smoke into the blue sky as once the cookfires of base camp had.

While the rocket still stands proud and half-forgotten at the edge of town, slightly tilted a bit more than she remembers, the heart of Rocket Town is a shopping plaza with no less than three bars and a souvenir shop with t-shirts in the display windows that feature an illustration of her rocket and the words ROCKET TOWN printed below the picture. 

Oster had met her at the edge of town upon spying her plane landing, and had been pleased to realize that the Turk she had come with was much more amiable than he looked at first glance. Some of the townspeople had seen fit to welcome her with a small parade, which Reno had thoroughly enjoyed, and while the music had been nice and the positive reception even better, Charlie had to mask her disappointment upon noticing the conspicuous absence of Cid. 

Oster isn’t what Charlie had expected—she had expected someone old, someone in charge, someone with slightly more say in what goes on in Rocket Town. Instead, he’s a man near Reeve’s age that had come to Rocket Town initially to see the rocket, only to find that he never wanted to leave and ended up opening the souvenir shop downtown. His brown hair is turning gray already and there’s something about him that gives Charlie reason to believe that he’s not all there in the head, but he’s friendly enough, and is grateful that she’s come. 

He speaks for thirty minutes about his life, about the move to Rocket Town, about his love for outer space, about his love of the stars, about his love for the rocket, until he finally steers back on track. 

“My business survives because of tourism,” he explains desperately to Charlie at a back table in his favorite bar, with Reno sitting a little ways away at the bar, looking over his shoulder every so often. She hadn’t wanted to come with Reno, but she refused to return with Tseng, she didn’t want to frighten anyone by bringing Rude along (whose social skills leave much to be desired), and her disdain for Elena is known throughout the company. “If the rocket is torn down, no one will come anymore, and all of my merchandise will be useless.”

“Don’t worry,” Charlie assures him with a smile. “I won’t let anything happen to that rocket. I’ll make sure that supplies will be sent to the construction site.”

It’s such a simple answer, one she could have given him last night with an e-mail. Regardless, it makes Oster happy. “Thank you, ma’am!” 

That’s all it takes for Charlie and Reno to have the rest of the morning to themselves, and they walk through the stores for a little while to inspect the goods that are being sold. Most of it is overpriced and the few Materia that’s being sold is rather common, but none of the shopkeepers complain of dwindling business. 

As they slowly move closer to the rocket, Charlie finds herself transfixed by it. She stands in the middle of town, oblivious to the gurgling fountain behind her or the hushed whispers of passing townspeople, her neck craned slightly backwards to admire her rocketship, once destined to send the first man into outer space. 

It’s been fenced off, for the most part, and the signs surrounding it read NO TRESPASSING and DANGER and PRIVATE PROPERTY. This is a bit suspect to Charlie, and she dares to wonder, even briefly, if Cid has been caring for the rocket all along . . . if the property is even his to begin with. It’s likely that Shinra Inc. had put those signs up upon the building of the town to dismay curious visitors and reckless citizens. 

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna try and climb that thing?” Reno mumbles in her ear. He laughs upon seeing Charlie’s glazed-over look when she finally turns away from the rocket. 

“Of course I am,” she says flatly. “It’s _my_ rocket. I want to see it.”

Reno crosses his arms over his chest as if in challenge. “I can’t let you up there, y’know,” he replies, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “If you fall, your brother’ll have my head.”

“I won’t fall,” Charlie retorts. “Why don’t you go have a drink?”

“I’m not supposed to leave your side, Charlie.”

Charlie moves quickly, unsure of what comes over her, grabbing Reno by the collar of his shirt and yanking hard to bring him nose to nose with her. His eyes widen in surprise, but not fear. He’s far too close with Rufus to truly be afraid of her. “I said,” she repeats slowly, gritting her teeth, “go have a drink, you cretin.”

Reno jerks back when she releases him, smoothing out his shirt and jacket, clearing his throat. He doesn’t look very happy about it, but then again, he’s close enough with Rufus that he knows there will be consequences if he continues to ignore her wishes. 

There’s no security to stop her from slipping through the crude wooden fence that’s been erected around it, falling apart in places and eaten away by insects. She isn’t entirely sure whose property she’s trespassing on, but she makes her way to the bottom of the first platform, to some rusting stairs that will lead her to the first platform and the first ladder of several. 

She’s not so out of shape that it’s difficult to climb up, but it hurts her hands and the wind feels like it’s going to blow her right off as she nears the top. The topmost platform, the one that leads into the rocket itself, is high above the town, and Charlie takes a moment to look upon the sprawling mass of homes and shops that have found roots here. 

To see a town so green, even in the fall, is almost alien; there isn’t a single natural tree in Midgar as far as Charlie knows, and even the land surrounding the city is dead and barren, but Rocket Town is almost picturesque. There are still some trees within the town square and every house is equipped with a decent-sized yard, and a stream that had once been used to collect water for her crew and their chocobos still runs through a more heavily-forested area, able to be seen through the thinning and dying leaves. 

Ducking into the rocket, Charlie feels the breath leave her all at once. 

The cockpit is just as she remembers it, and when she sits down in the seat, it seems as if she’s not the only one who’s been inside in the past four years. The buttons and levers and screens are free of dust, and some panels are opened, as if someone has been doing electrical work on them. 

She leans back, closing her eyes, trying to remember what it had felt like that morning, the blue of the sky and the sound of fireworks, the rumble of the rocket’s engine as it started and the smell of coffee and cigarettes. She wonders what it had felt like when Cid first sat in this chair and understood what it meant, wonders if he relives that morning every night in his dreams like she does. 

When Charlie opens her eyes again, it’s only to find her reflection staring back at her from the wide, black screen. 

* * *

He’s not hiding. 

He’s _not_ hiding. 

Cid Highwind doesn’t hide, especially not from Charlotte Shinra, a _kid_ , a kid who ruined his hopes and dreams and would have made him a murderer. 

Not like Shera had raised any protest at his decision to lock himself in his bedroom all morning. She hadn’t been as eager to greet Charlie as everyone else had, probably because Charlie would have killed her to get what she wanted four years ago. 

But she has to be gone by now. It’s been four hours, and someone like Charlotte fucking Shinra is likely too busy to mosey around for more than four hours in some backwoods country town where the only exciting thing is the rocket in his backyard. He hadn’t even considered the idea that she might not even have wanted to see the rocket at all, given the horrible memories she presumably has associated with Shinra No. 26.

Despite the unlikelihood of Charlie having climbed all the way up to the top of the rocket (he _had_ cleaned up after himself last night, just in case she were to climb up and find all the trash on the platform), Cid leaves his bedroom just before noon to find most everyone back in their houses, the decorations that had been put up for Charlie’s arrival are being taken down, and his rocket looks perfectly normal. 

He climbs the ladders with a cigarette between his lips again, just like always, and flicks the butt over the side when he reaches the top, not wanting to fuck anything up inside with his smoking habits. The last thing he wants is for Charlie to accuse him of tinkering, only to confiscate the rocket like Shinra Inc. had confiscated his airship.

True, he had never called to dispute that pretty little fact, but his last name is painted across the side of the fucking airship, and if that doesn’t count for anything among President Shinra’s tyrannical company, then nothing will. 

Upon entering the cockpit, muttering under his breath about the things he’d love to do to President Shinra, he realizes that he’s not alone—someone is sitting in the captain’s chair. 

Cid stops full in the threshold, catching the sight of that light blonde hair that he recognizes so fucking easily, even after all these years, and when she gets to her feet and turns around to face him with those wide doe-eyes, the only thing he can think is how much she looks like her bastard brother.

But that fleeting thought is suddenly replaced with thoughts that he thought he had buried long ago.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck she’s beautiful fuck she’s beautiful fuck why did she come here fuck fuck fuck she must think I’m an idiot fuck fuck fuck why does she have to look so much like that fucking moron fuck fuck why is she looking at me like that fuck her ring her ring her ring her ring_ —

“Cid?”

“Huh?” He blinks at her, uncertain exactly how long he’s been lost in thought. She looks so goddamn nervous, standing there with her hands held in front of her, as if preparing to be reprimanded for sitting in his seat. He has no idea what to say to her, how to address her, what to do, how to act, should he bow? shake her hand? hug her?—no, don’t hug her—“Hi, princess.”

His heart is pounding in her ears, but he doesn’t fail to miss the small, upwards tick of her lips. “Hi, Cid,” she answers, looking fucking gorgeous with her hair pinned back out of her face like that, looking windswept and flushed and _ravished_. 

“I—um—” Cid swallows thickly, his mouth very dry. “I thought you left.”

One of her eyebrows jumps up. “You were avoiding me?”

“No! No, I wasn’t—I wasn’t avoidin’ you, I just—er—shit—”

What is it about her that makes him feel like a kid again? Why is it so easy to hate her when she’s half a world away? Why does she make him so sweaty, so nervous, so inadequate?

“Come to steal back the rocket, then?” he asks, too roughly. 

Charlie’s face is suddenly very cool, her small smile gone completely. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the chair, looking more like her dipshit brother than ever. “I’ve come to save it, actually,” she corrects him sharply. “At the request of one of your townspeople.”

“Right.” He knew that, of course he did. Cid rubs the back of his sunburnt neck. “Heard you’re gettin’ married.”

Something flickers in her eyes, but she smiles again. This time, it seems forced, though it might just be wishful thinking. “Yes,” she says, twisting the massive fucking rock on her finger. “And you?”

“Me what?”

This makes her laugh. “Are you seeing anyone? Getting married?”

“No,” Cid scoffs, almost laughing in her face. “No, I’m not . . . no.”

They’re quiet after this, looking awkwardly at each other. He has to be quiet for at least a minute, just to look at her face not on a screen or on paper, but in front of him. She’s still a skinny little thing, but tall, her hair longer than he remembers and her lips stained bright red—she never wore makeup to base camp, never bothered to do her hair all fancy, but he thinks he likes the makeup, too. 

He remembers, in vivid detail still, all these years later, when she’d wear those little tank tops, showing off her muscled arms, toned and long with her deft hands. Sometimes Charlie would reach up high and her shirt would ride up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her stomach, toned and flat and shimmering with sweat. She would always catch him looking, too, and there would be nothing to do but blush and accept his shame. 

“So,” he starts again, straightening up and stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. Charlie cocks an eyebrow again, waiting patiently for him to continue, but something in his gut tells him she’s teasing him. He knows that look. “What are you doin’ now? Head of the Damage Control Department?”

When she laughs this time, her mouth widens to reveal her perfect fucking teeth. “Yeah, something like that,” she tells him. “Director of Communications.”

“Did you see the wall of you in the bar?”

“Yes, I did,” she giggles. “It was very flattering.” Charlie looks around the cockpit, picking up a pair of pliers off the floor and putting them on the vacant chair. “You’ve been taking care of the rocket all this time?”

“As much as I can,” Cid replies, his chest puffing out at the pleased sort of look she gives him. “Between playin’ handyman for the town and messin’ ‘round with the Tiny Bronco, I got a little time to play around in here.”

“I’ve drawn up some new sketches,” she informs him happily, and this takes him by surprise. “You might not agree, but I think they’re _better_ than this old piece of junk.”

“Junk!” he shouts, placing a hand over his heart in mock outrage. “How could you say such a thing? Do you have any idea what went into the buildin’ of such a beauty?” Cid slaps a hand against the inner wall of the rocket. “Blood, sweat, and tears, darlin’, and more money than I’ll ever see in my entire lifetime.”

He thought it might make her smile again, but she just looks at him with the saddest expression he’s ever seen.

“Er . . . was it somethin’ I said?”

Charlie inhales deeply. “Look, Cid, I—”

“Don’t,” he grunts, and when she continues to look wary, he adds, “Just don't, all right?”

After another minute or so of silence, Charlie claps her hands together and puts on her happy face again. “I should probably go, then,” she says, taking a few steps closer to him. His body blocks the way out, and she isn’t about to slip through beside him. “Are you going to keep me trapped here? I’ll have you know that I brought a Turk with me today.”

Cid doesn’t want her to go, not really. He wants her to stay, to talk to him, to laugh with him, to be silent for an hour as they work side by side in such perfect fucking unison. 

He doesn’t want her to go back to Midgar, back to her ivory tower, back to her handsome and rich and perfect fiancé. 

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Charlie asks again. 

_Damn!_ Lost in his own thoughts again, Cid gives his head a shake, dragging rough fingers through his coarse yellow hair. “I hope you’re happy,” he says, bitter and gruff, “with that fuckin’ prick.”

Charlie doesn’t seem amused in the slightest. She puts her hands on her hips, and it’s endearing enough to soften his heart temporarily. “You haven’t changed,” she replies in a disinterested tone. “Get out of my way.”

But he doesn’t. His legs refuse to move, despite his brain telling him to _move move get out of her way before she hates you even more_. 

Charlie purses her lips, looking up at him. “Will it make you more comfortable if I tell you that you can speak freely around me?”

“If I wanted to speak my mind, I would, with or without your permission.”

“Then you’re braver than most men I know, I think.” Charlie smiles politely at him, gesturing vaguely towards the exit. “May I pass now?”

It just now occurs to Cid how long it’s been since he’s seen her—a little over four years, but it certainly seems like a lifetime. He’s gotten old, and lines have begun developing at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead, and sometimes he falls asleep on the couch and wakes up with a pain in his back so bad that he can’t move for hours.

But Charlie is still so young, and that realization strikes him so suddenly that it must show in his expression. 

She waves a hand in front of his face. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He steps aside for her, watching as she begins to climb onto the ladder, wanting to call out to her, wanting to beg her to stay, wanting to get down on his knees and pull her right back up. “Shera’s livin’ with me, you know.”

Charlie falters, pausing mid-climb. Only the top of her is visible from his position, from her shoulders up. “I hope you two are very happy together,” she replies with obvious contempt, the same way she had spoken to him when she thought he was off fucking that Turk. 

“It ain’t like that,” he confesses quickly, starting forward. 

She moves her hand, but remains very still for another few moments. “Why didn’t you ever call?”

The words come too easily to him. “‘Cause you’re still one of ‘em. A Shinra.”

If Cid thought his answer would faze her, it seems he’s wrong. Charlie nods, too accepting of it, and whispers “Good-bye, Cid,” before descending down the multiple ladders.

He watches her the entire way down, watches her until she’s completely out of sight, and only then does he remember that he’d completely forgotten to, at least once, call her Lottie.

* * *

The anger still burns inside of her when she returns to Headquarters, the flight back with Reno having been completely silent. 

Cid, _living_ with Shera! _Living_ with the woman who had destroyed both of their dreams, the woman who had been stupid enough to stay behind at the risk of dying . . . the woman who had gotten Charlie kicked off the project and as the head of her department, the woman who had shattered whatever respect President Shinra still held for his daughter. 

The woman who would have been killed on Charlie’s orders. 

It feels like a massive betrayal, but she reminds herself that it _has_ been four years, and if Cid wants to spend the rest of his life with that stupid, incompetent woman, then so be it. It’s his life, and Charlie has her own life now, a life with Reeve and a life in Midgar and a life devoid of science and rockets and space.

Why had she ever gone to Rocket Town in the first place? She should have known it would be a terrible idea. She should have known that sitting in the captain’s chair would bring horrible memories flooding back, and would intensify the burning regret she still feels. 

To see Cid again had been bittersweet. In the last four years, he’s gotten older, but still not so old as Reeve. She hadn’t minded the lines in his face, the nicotine stains on his teeth, the way he got so sweaty when he was talking to her (he’s always sweating). He had seemed bigger, more muscular, than before, but his beautiful arms had been hidden beneath his jacket—no, not his beautiful arms—why would she say that, why would she think that, she can’t think that—

She slips into Reeve’s office the moment she gets back, closing the door and locking it while he speaks into the phone at his desk, smiling at the sight of her. 

Reeve’s office is massive, three times the size of her own cramped little thing, with far more windows (Charlie’s office has one big one on the wall behind her desk) that cover the entirety of the wall, overlooking the cityscape. The leather furniture that had been provided to him was courtesy of her father, a gift after his recent promotion, but it serves mainly for decoration, as Reeve hardly ever entertains in his office, preferring to be alone for most of the day unless he absolutely must meet with someone else. 

He hangs up the phone as she approaches his desk, standing on the other side of it. Reeve leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together, resting them on his stomach. The chair groans at the shifting of his weight, but holds steady. 

“I went to Rocket Town this morning,” she confesses softly, glad to see him offer her a sympathetic smile.

“I know,” he replies, and Charlie narrows her eyes at him. Laughing, he adds, “Pia told me. I brought you breakfast this morning, but . . . unfortunately, your assistant ate it for you.”

She can’t help but smile at him, at his kindness and thoughtfulness. Moving around his desk to get closer to him, Charlie slides into his lap, draping a leg on either side of him and letting her arms resting lazily on his shoulders. “I feel horrible,” she says again, wanting to melt right in his arms, to press her cheek to his chest and close her eyes and feel his arms wrap around her. “I went up to see the rocket, and it’s just how I remember it.”

Reeve takes hold of her left hand, admiring the ring on her finger and kissing her palm. “Why don’t we take off early today?”

The idea excites her. She’s too used to the idea of him coming home late at night lately, and for once, she wants him all to herself. “I have a better idea,” she answers, placing her hand to his cheek and draping her arm over his shoulder. 

When he continues to look blankly at her, Charlie kisses him hard, feeling both of his hands suddenly jump to her waist, keeping her firm in place in his lap. They break apart, only for Reeve’s lips to attach to her neck, leaving warm kisses up and down her jaw and throat. 

“Let’s get married tomorrow,” she whispers, inhaling sharply when he kisses the hollow of her throat. 

“Tomorrow?” he murmurs between kisses. He used to refuse to kiss her in his office, afraid of someone watching. That was a long time ago, and they’ve done far worse things than kiss in his office since then. 

She hums her assent, breathing heavily. With sudden strength, Reeve wraps both of his strong arms around her waist, lifting her to sit her down upon his desk, pushing papers and pencils and pens and his keyboard off to the side. Charlie grins playfully, lying back, the desktop cool against her back, through the thin fabric of her blouse. 

“Your father would be very disappointed to find his only daughter had eloped. You know how excited he is about our wedding,” he teases, working on the buttons of her shirt. “And he would be doubly disappointed to know that I’m about to make love to you on my desk, in full view of the camera.”

“Well, it’s the best possible use of your desk, I think,” she says, unable to wait patiently for him to finish unbuttoning her blouse, wanting to claw at his pressed suit, but not wanting to ruin it. “And whoever’s watching can look away for a little bit.”

He pauses, looking down at her with a fond smile, a smile that stretches from ear to ear. He shrugs, unabashed, before opening her blouse to reveal her bra, her stomach, her heaving chest. Placing a soft kiss to her sternum, he mumbles, “I think you’re right.”

Charlie runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, his beard tickling the soft skin of her stomach, his mouth hot against her flesh. The sunlight shining in his office hits her diamond ring just right, nearly blinding her for a moment.

She’s happy, she thinks. She’s happy in Midgar, with Reeve, and that’s all that matters. And in a few months, they’ll be married, and she’ll be Mrs. Reeve Tuesti, Mrs. Charlotte Shinra, Mrs. Charlotte Tuesti. 

She’ll have everything—a perfect husband, a perfect apartment, and when they have children, they’ll be perfect, as well. She’ll have more money than she knows what to do with, a job that keeps her busy, and her children will grow up running around Shinra Headquarters just like she and Rufus used to. 

And in four more years, maybe she’ll finally be able to forget about Cid Highwind. 

* * *

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She had been standing right in front of him, and he had fucked it all up, just like always.

The tea (now half-full with whiskey, as well) Shera had made for him sits untouched in front of him. He stares out the kitchen window, at the rocket that leans mockingly towards his house. 

Why did he tell her he was living with Shera? Maybe it was a last ditch effort to get her to stay, to make her jealous, to see that look on her face and realize she might still have some long buried feelings for him. It’s not like he and Shera are sleeping together—they’re hardly friends, and the very sight of her makes Cid’s stomach roil with unwelcome feelings of bitterness and anger and regret and the memories of the morning he lost both his dream, his status, and his girl. 

At least she hadn’t forgotten his name. She remembered his name, remembered who he was, remembered that they were once friends. 

Maybe she only came to see him, to claim the rocket as hers and to remind him that Shinra Inc. only takes and takes and takes and takes from him. First it had been his father, killed in action in the war in Wutai, and then it was his innocence, by sending _him_ to Wutai when he was hardly more than a boy. After that, it had been his airship, the Highwind, and then it had been his job and his paycheck, and then it had been the best days of his life with the girl he loved the most, and now his rocket. 

He should have known he would never have been good enough for her. He should have known from the start that he was too blunt with her, too friendly, always wanting wanting wanting from her even after it was made plain he would never have her. 

Cid sips at the tea. It’s foul, watery, bitter, tasting heavily of whiskey, the dregs getting in his mouth. Four fucking years, and Shera still makes his goddamn tea with leaves instead of a fucking bag, just like he likes it. 

He replaces his tea with a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, falling onto the couch and trying to enjoy the quiet while Shera’s out for a few hours. She always comes back early, but he still has some time left to him. Turning on the television, he swears loudly, the first thing to pop up on the screen being Charlie’s face, an old speech she had made a few years ago today. 

Cid doesn’t change the channel right away. He slinks back into the couch cushions, propping his muddy boots on the coffee table and kicking aside one of the rifles he’d meant to clean earlier. He’s quiet as she speaks, gritting his teeth and working the muscles in his jaw. 

She’s all grace, all professionalism, looking like the spoiled brat she is, with President Shinra standing slightly to her right and that arrogant bastard Reeve standing on her left. 

“. . . today is the start of a new life for those of us living in Midgar . . .”

Cid sits up straight, the light from the screen casting shadows on the dark curtains that keep the light from coming in through the windows. Slamming his drink on the table in front of him, he holds his head in his hands and listens to her voice, _really_ listens to it.

He remembers how low her voice sounded in his ear when she was teasing him, her hot breath against his skin. He remembers her laughter, hearty and sweet and contagious. He remembers her giving commands, everyone’s full attention on her. 

“. . . will make Shinra Inc. a brand that can be trusted by the people atop the plate, and the ones below . . .”

The end of her sentence is drowned out by enthusiastic applause. 

“. . . continue to protect the people around the world, and we are dedicated to ensuring everyone is able to live comfortably and affordably with the services provided by mako refinement and Shinra Inc.’s reactors . . .”

He sighs heavily.

“. . . we will make Midgar a proud city, and aspire to promote Midgar’s comfortable lifestyle with other quickly developing towns . . .”

Looking back up at the television, Cid leans back again, his heart throbbing and his breath shaky and heavy. He swallows hard, eyes fixed upon the face of Charlotte Shinra, standing between her husband-to-be and her father, speaking so passionately, speaking so warmly to the people . . . who fucking _adore_ her. 

With a trembling hand, he unbuttons his pants, sliding a hand down the front of them to cup himself. His lips part of their own accord, a soft gasp escaping him. Charlie’s hands certainly wouldn’t be so rough or so big, and her mouth would be even sweeter, hot and wet and—

Cid closes his eyes, letting her voice wash over him as he touches himself. He thrusts violently into his fist, grunting and groaning and tensing and _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ it feels like she’s right here, climbing into his lap, straddling his waist and sitting down on him, and her hands touch his chest and her lips touch his ear and she’s whispering to him, whispering to him about . . . about . . . Midgar . . . and mako reactors . . .

He opens his eyes again to find that Charlie isn’t even speaking anymore—Reeve is. 

He understands, then, his hand stilling as he listens to Reeve talk. Charlie is watching him with a smile, with a dreamy look on her face, and Cid gets it.

Reeve is well-spoken, professional, handsome, could afford a decent education. He’s rich, powerful, successful. 

All of the things that Cid isn’t. 

“Fuck!”

He stands abruptly, taking hold of his beer bottle by the neck, and throws it at the wall, where it shatters. Beer runs down the wall, foamy, dripping onto his carpet. 

“ _What_ are you doing!”

Cid flushes as Shera peers into the sitting room, her arms full of brown paper shopping bags. He must look very suspicious, his cheeks pink and his pants unbuttoned and his forehead damp with sweat. When she looks at the television screen and sees what he’s been watching, Shera purses her lips. 

He doesn’t even have the energy to be angry with her. “Leave me alone, woman,” he sighs, pulling his pants up to keep her from seeing anything unsavory, despite the evidence right there in front of her, his pants pushing uncomfortably against the front of him. 

“Captain—”

“I said leave me alone,” he repeats, waddling awkwardly past her and to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and finishing, quickly and painfully, to the thought of Lottie. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Your sister’s boring. What do you want me to tell you?”

“What do you mean she’s boring?” Rufus asks quickly, looking Reno in the face. “What has she been doing?”

“Nothin’, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Reno presses on, shrugging his shoulders. Rufus continues to pace in front of him, his shoes clacking on the hardwood flooring of the beach house. “She works, visits her airship, works on a plane, goes out with Reeve, goes home with Reeve, fucks Reeve, sees _LOVELESS_ almost religiously, and—oh, well, she did go to Rocket Town a few days ago.”

Narrowing his eyes, Rufus dislikes the bored look on the Turk’s face. His sister hasn’t been to see her rocket since the day she left it four and a half years ago, or close enough. For her to return so suddenly seems very suspect, but Reno doesn’t seem to realize anything is amiss. 

“Why did she go to Rocket Town?”

“I guess some people were afraid that the rocket would be reduced to scrap metal,” Reno supplies unhelpfully. People have been wanting to do that for years now, but Reeve had argued against it, citing tourists as the main reason for keeping it up. “She went to go check on it.”

“She went into the rocket?”

“I guess so.”

“What do you mean you guess so?” Rufus snaps, stepping closer to Reno, who seems to realize his mistake too late. “You are supposed to be tracking her every move, staying by her side. Did she or did she not go into the rocket?”

“She led me to believe she was going to—”

“So you don’t know for certain?”

“I know that I saw her climbing back down. She was with someone up there.” Reno sighs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Look, she threatened me! What was I supposed to do? Your sister _hates_ me! She didn’t want me with her. I told you that it should be Tseng tagging after her, but did you listen to me? No, you didn’t listen to poor—”

Rufus places a strong hand at the crook of Reno’s neck, his fingers lightly circling his throat. Dark Nation growls at the Turk from Rufus’s side. “Who was she in the rocket with? Who was she meeting? Was it an Avalanche informant?”

“What? No!” Reno says hastily, a little more jumpy with Rufus’s hand around his throat. “It was that pilot—the scumbag who helped build the rocket, y’know?”

The admission takes Rufus by surprise. He lowers his hand back to his side, trying to determine if Reno is telling the truth or not. “You know that for a certainty? That it was the pilot?”

“Looked like him. I dunno who else it would’a been—I’ve only ever seen pictures, but it definitely looked like him from where I was standing.” As Rufus thinks, Reno asks, “Should I not have let her near the pilot? He seemed a pretty harmless drunk, if you ask me.”

So Charlie went to Rocket Town under the guise of some pleading townsperson, only to meet with Cid again? It’s no secret to Rufus that she’s always harbored some queer feelings for the man, but to think that she might still feel _something_ for him is almost laughable. She’s engaged to one of the better men at Shinra Inc. (in her view, at least) and they’ve already established their place as world’s favorite power couple.

He tries to imagine a scenario where Charlie _doesn’t_ marry Reeve, and he no longer needs to worry about her finding out things about the company that are less than savory. He tries to imagine Charlie running to _him_ instead of Reeve when she needs help, when she needs a favor, when she needs a bailout, when she needs a shoulder to cry on. 

It’s appealing, truthfully, a future without Reeve as his brother-in-law. 

“No,” he answers after a long time, and Reno furrows his brow. “If she misses her pilot so much, let her visit. Who are we to meddle in the middle of such a love affair?”

* * *

“Enzio is here somewhere, and he’s expecting to see you.”

“What?” Rufus scoffs, scanning the crowd. “Why? Why does he want to speak to me?”

“I told him that you would be here. He asked about you the other day,” Charlie explains patiently, holding onto her brother’s arm with long fingers, looking for a sign of Reeve in the thick crowd that’s gathered in the casino lobby of the Gold Saucer. “I got him to donate sixty thousand gil to the slum project.”

“Sixty thousand?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “That’s a lot for Enzio.”

“He was drunk when he promised me,” she replies, turning her back on the crowd to straighten Rufus’s thin black tie. “I just made sure that he delivered. Trust me, he was reluctant. You look very nice tonight, by the way.” Catching Enzio’s eye across the lobby, she smiles at her brother. “Here, he’s just over there, I’ll go with you until Reeve arrives.”

“He didn’t come with you?”

“No,” Charlie laughs. “I’ve been here since this morning making sure everything was going to be perfect.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

Charlie drags Rufus by the hand over to their father’s old friend, standing with his wife, a forty-something woman with artificially red hair and long eyelashes, her skin browned by the sun. Enzio is happy to see them, and has the grace not to mention his hefty donation (likely unknown to his wife) in front of Rufus. 

Even to this day, she isn’t certain what caused the falling out between her father and his friend. Enzio had always been a welcome face at Shinra Headquarters when she was very young, and always took her mother’s side when it came to the intense education and studies and tutoring Charlie’s mother subjected her to. 

Regardless, he had been friendly, funny, likeable, and known for bringing Charlie star charts and candy and magazines that her father didn’t like her looking at, not ever wanting to fill her head with dreams and wishful little fantasies. 

To Charlie’s pleasant surprise, Rufus greets him like an old, personal friend, shaking Enzio’s hand with vigor and greeting Enzio’s wife (Charlie isn’t sure of her name, as this wife is new to her) with a slight, polite inclining of his head. He talks graciously of Charlie’s newest magazine cover, and they fawn over her and discuss her upcoming marriage for a few minutes before Enzio changes the subject back to Rufus’s own private life.

“The two of you could be twins,” he notes, something their mother used to tell them all the time. “To think you looked alike when you were children . . . it’s the Shinra look, I suppose. Even in death, you’ll be similar, I’m sure.”

Charlie smiles up at her brother, admiring the similarities between them. He has her nose, of course, and hair and eyes and even the shape of their faces are the same. 

“When are you going to settle down with a nice girl, Rufus?” Enzio asks, and Charlie watches her brother smile, revealing a dazzling smile that does nothing to thaw the coldness of his eyes. “I know quite a few girls who would take care of you. Pretty ones, too.”

“Why should I settle down?” Rufus asks, scoffing loudly and making Enzio laugh. “I’m too busy to settle down, Enzio. Besides, why should I have need of a woman? I have a nice woman right here who takes care of me.” He wraps an arm around his sister’s waist and kisses her cheek. Enzio’s wife seems touched by this gesture, placing her hand to her heart and smiling sweetly at them. “Look at her, how lovely she is. The only woman I’ll ever need.” 

“If I know your father, he’ll want you to find another girl that isn’t your sister soon enough.” Enzio claps a hand on Rufus’s shoulder in a rather paternal way, giving him a slight shake, but Rufus doesn’t falter. “Charlie, why haven’t you come by sooner? My telescope is wasted without someone there to use it.”

Charlie clears her throat, feeling her brother’s fingers dig into her waist. “I don’t do that anymore, Enzio.”

“No? Your mother would be disappointed, dear. You know how happy she was to look at the stars with you.”

“Well, Mother isn’t here anymore to be disappointed.”

Enzio’s smile fades slowly. “I’ll talk to you later, you two. I’ve a thirst. Charlie, you’ll let me know when Reeve gets here, won’t you? I would like to meet this man you’re to marry.”

“Of course. We’ll find you right away.” 

The private ballroom above the casino that’s been reserved for Shinra Inc. is high enough for Charlie to peer out the window and see the tram running back and forth, the gondolas making their circuit of the massive Gold Saucer, the empty racing track where riders drive chocobos in a long race that leaves them aching and hurting, she’s certain. 

A black-tie clad orchestra plays on the stage and couples are already dancing on the dance floor while waiters and waitresses maneuver through the throng with silver platters carrying food and glasses of champagne. A few card tables have been set up where others are already bidding, winning, and losing, and several monitors show the empty track where the chocobos are going to race in a little while. The flooring is so black and polished that she can see her reflection in it, and the reflection of her brother, who still hasn’t left her side. 

“Reeve should be here by now,” she says to him, looking anxiously down at the tram station for new arrivals. The tram has yet to return from its journey back to pick more guests up. “Where is he?”

“Let’s dance.” Rufus touches her elbow to guide her towards the dance floor.

“I don’t want to dance,” she says, jerking away from his touch. 

Rufus’s nostrils flare and he grabs hold of her elbow again, tighter this time. Charlie stumbles in his high heels, quickly regaining her balance to attempt to pull away again. “Let’s dance, Charlie. If Reeve wanted to be here, he would be.”

Charlie frowns, turning away from the window to follow her brother to the dance floor. He leads wonderfully, with skill—Rufus has always been an excellent dancer, likely because of all the galas and fundraisers and events he’s attended at Charlie’s request over the years. He holds onto her waist and hand gently, knowing that now she’s here with him, she won’t be so quick to leave him. 

Very briefly, she remembers dancing in an open and empty field underneath the stars with Cid. 

“You know that Father’s been having you followed,” Rufus murmurs into her ear, causing her heart to momentarily stop. 

“What?” But after processing this, Charlie can’t say she’s surprised. Her father has always been suspicious of her, known to think she would be the first to defect. “Is that why I’ve been seeing far more of Reno than I’d like?”

“He thinks you’re passing information.”

Charlie’s heart stutters, but she doesn’t let her fear show. Rufus knows her too well, and even the smallest tic in her face might give her away to him. “Why would I be passing information?”

“Who else would have known I decided to give money to your project?”

“You didn’t exactly announce your intentions in private,” Charlie scoffs, moving smoothly among the dance floor with the other couples. “You announced it on the beach of Costa del Sol. You don’t think other people heard it?” She purses her lips, wanting to make it very plain to Rufus that she isn’t passing information, despite having met with an Avalanche member just last week at a showing of _LOVELESS_. “Father has never had any faith in me.”

“Don’t worry. I told him you weren’t an informant, Charlie, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Is that why he hit you?” Charlie lifts her hand from his shoulder to brush her fingertips across the slight, faded bruising on his cheekbone. 

“Don’t, Charlie,” he whispers gently, and she lowers her hand. 

“May I cut in?”

Charlie and Rufus break apart, and she’s delighted to see Reeve standing there with an awkward smile, her heart beating painfully fast, leaping in her throat. 

“Of course,” Rufus says with a smile, bowing out, his hands held behind his back. 

As soon as Reeve resumes the dance with Charlie, she hisses, “Where have you been? You should have been here nearly an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he answers, his collar slightly crooked and his hair a bit disheveled and his forehead shiny with sweat, looking as if he’s run here all the way from Midgar. “Your father wanted to talk to me, and I couldn’t escape.”

Charlie stiffens, the hand at her back comforting and warm, soaking up the sudden tension. “What did he want to talk to you about?”

“Nothing important.” Now that she really looks, he seems slightly shaken. “Don’t worry about it now. It looks fantastic in here, and you look—” His dark eyes flick up and down her body, settling again on her face—“absolutely beautiful.”

“Reeve,” she begins again, slowly, and she can see his composure beginning to crack the more she talks, “what did my father say to you?”

“Charlie, it was only about our wedding details,” he laughs, but it doesn’t seem he’s telling her the complete truth. Kissing her swiftly on the lips, he tells her, “Everything is fine. Don’t worry.” And when she still doesn’t seem convinced enough for his liking, he releases her to touch either side of her face. “Charlotte, everything is fine.”

“That doesn’t sound like my father,” Charlie protests. “What kind of things did he want to know about? The guest list? Pia gave it to me already.”

Reeve looks exasperated, but it makes her feel slightly better to see him still smiling. “I can tell that you’re exhausted.”

“I’m _so_ exhausted,” she admits, unable to keep her laughter at bay. 

But it’s true—her feet are killing her and all the lights of the Gold Saucer are giving her a headache and the champagne is making her bloat and she isn’t at all looking forward to the long flight home. She wants one week where she doesn’t have to fly across the world, one week where she can sleep without being bothered. 

“I know you just got here, but . . .” Charlie sighs, looking around her, looking for some sign of Rufus, but she doesn’t see him anywhere. “Will you take a walk with me? I just want to be with you for a little bit.”

Reeve lifts an eyebrow, nodding. “I think I know a quiet place we can talk. That _is_ what you had in mind, yes? Or would you prefer somewhere a little more secluded, a little more . . . private?”

Charlie blushes. “ _After_ the speech, maybe, so I don’t look like someone who’s been ravished in a closet while standing up in front of all of these people.” She and Reeve stop dancing, pressed close together to keep from interrupting the other dancers. “Let’s go.”

To her pleasure, Reeve brings her all the way to the gondola, where the worker looks very surprised to see them there and lets them ahead of everyone waiting in line. Charlie can almost feel the contempt, the impatience of the other people who had been waiting for their turn, and she urges the gondola worker to move quickly, if only to get herself and Reeve away from the restless line. 

She continues to look out the window, watching the bright neon lights of the Gold Saucer flash and blink, every color of the rainbow. Reeve watches her from the opposite seat, dragging a hand down his face and pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“Charlie, talk to me,” he insists softly, reaching out to take her left hand, brushing his thumb over her ring. She looks away from the window to smile weakly at him. “You haven’t been yourself these past few days.”

Not since Rocket Town. Not since Cid. “My father is having me followed,” she says lightly, and Reeve doesn’t seem very surprised by this. “He thinks I’m passing inside information about the company.”

Reeve hums. “Is that why Reno has been irritatingly present in your life lately?”

“Very probably.”

“That’s good to know,” he muses. “I was starting to worry I might need to have a word with him about any designs he might have on you.”

Charlie smiles wider at him, squeezing his hand. She moves forward on her seat, inhaling deeply. She may as well just ask. It’s not like Reeve despises her hobbies as her family does. “What if I started to study the stars again?”

Reeve thinks for a moment, but that moment is enough for Charlie. She pulls her hand away from him and looks out the window again, frowning. “You haven’t done that in years,” he reminds her, as if she needs reminding. Back when they had first made things official, when it became clear they weren’t just sleeping together, Charlie had spent more time looking through an optical telescope than with Reeve, often leaving Midgar for days at a time on a whim without even telling him. “Do you think you have the time for that?”

“Well, I . . . no, but I could make time for it,” she counters. “I think it would make me happy again.”

“You’re not happy?” He leans back in his seat, completely oblivious to the fun and colorful world outside the gondola. 

“No! Of course I’m happy— _you_ make me so happy, I just—” Charlie wraps her arms around herself, looking down at the skirt of her dress. Silver, just like almost every other gown she owns. Rufus always told her silver looked nice with her eyes. “Ever since seeing the rocket again, I just feel like something is missing, and Enzio was right, my mother would be so disappointed if she knew—”

“Enzio? Enzio told you to do this?”

“No, he didn’t tell me to do anything, he only suggested that I might start using his telescope again, and you _know_ that he has the best telescope in Midgar. You can actually see the stars with it, even through all the smog.” When Reeve opens his mouth to argue, Charlie stops him before he can say a single word. “And maybe, in time, my father will consider refunding the Space Exploration Department with me as the head of it. We don’t have to send anyone in space, but think of all the experiments and scientists and engineers we could hire to complete more studies—”

“My love, your father isn’t going to fund the department.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it startles her. “And we’re supposed to be married in the spring—”

Charlie shakes her head. “We can still be married in the spring. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I know you, Charlie, I’ve known you since you were sixteen,” Reeve replies adamantly, lowering his voice, but no less firm about his stance on her studying some stars. “You’ve never known when to stop working, and this is no different. If you start studying the stars again, I might not see you for months, and with your _actual_ position now—”

“It’s hardly a position,” Charlie answers, scoffing. “I’m a puppet for Shinra Inc. and my father. Anyone could do my job.”

“Look, I think, if you want to change jobs, I have a few engineering positions in my department that you could try, or I’m certain you would be welcome in weapons development.”

“ _Weapons development?_ ” she hisses coldly, and Reeve seems to realize his mistake at that moment, looking away from her. “Is that what you think of me? I’m an aeronautical engineer, and you think I want to build _weapons?_ ”

“Charlotte, I’m only trying to help—”

“If you really knew me, you would know what would make me happy, and it’s certainly not building weapons.”

“I just don’t want to see you disappointed again,” Reeve pleads with her, moving from his current seat to sit beside Charlie. She tries to move away from him, but he backs her against the corner of the gondola, trapping her there. 

“Why would I be disappointed? If I were to go through with another rocket launch, I would at least have a far more competent astronaut working with me.” Charlie looks up into his face with wide eyes, wanting desperately for him to take her side. “You told me yourself that Rufus defended me. Why wouldn’t he still defend me four years later? If he could help me convince my father—”

“He won’t—”

“Why not? You think you know Rufus better than _I_ do?”

Reeve’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and he sighs, fidgeting and shifting uncomfortably, adjusting his cufflinks and collar and hair, combing his beard distractedly with his fingertips. “Because,” he starts, lowering his hands into her lap and looking into her eyes again, “Rufus never defended your department. He didn’t even defend _you_.”

“What?” Charlie feels as if he’s slapped her. She would rather he have just slapped her, as the sting would at least stop hurting after a few minutes. “What are you talking about? Rufus defended me. He told my father to let me have another six months, to keep the department alive. He told me that— _you_ told me that—”

“Your brother advocated for the closing of your department,” Reeve confesses, and her heart sinks into her stomach, leaving her breathless and nauseous. “But how was I supposed to tell you that after what happened? I needed something to make you feel as if it wasn’t a complete loss—”

“So you just decided to lie about it?”

“I didn’t think that it would matter—I never anticipated the department to reopen, anyway—”

The gondola slowly comes full circle, making its slow descent back to the platform, where the line is much shorter now. Charlie can’t look away from Reeve’s face, pale and nervous. She knows that he never intended to hurt her, but this admission, seemingly random, in the hopes of preventing her from disappearing for days without him . . . the admission hurts. 

She puts on a smile for everyone who watches them exit the gondola, holding onto Reeve’s hand and squeezing as hard as she can to keep her grounded. This revelation is so incredibly painful, the knowledge that her brother hadn’t bothered to stand up for a project she spent _years_ on . . .

Upon reentering the ballroom, Charlie and Reeve don’t talk anymore on the subject, but wear their false smiles and kiss when expected to and cling to each other all night long. After Charlie gives her speech, and after Rufus’s chosen chocobo outraces hers, and after Reeve gambles for a little while and comes out on top, she decides she’s overstayed her welcome. 

Not wanting to talk any further about her department, Charlie finds Rufus in the crowd while Reeve is being interrogated by Enzio, the perfect distraction. He seems very pleased to see her approach, a drink in one hand and surveying the crowd from an empty corner. Charlie grabs at his free hand, breathing heavily.

“Take me home,” she says quietly, and it is not a question, but a command.

Rufus doesn’t question her, doesn’t ask where Reeve is (one of his favorite questions), doesn’t ask if she’s certain she wants to go now. He doesn’t brag about his chocobo beating hers, doesn’t try and find Reeve to tell him they’re leaving, but puts a hand on the small of her back and leads her down to the tram station, where Charlie finally feels safe enough to ask the question she’s been burning to ask him all night.

“Why didn’t you defend my department when Father wanted to shut it down after the launch?”

Her brother hesitates just outside the tram, pulling her aside to a shadowy alcove roughly by her upper arm. “What are you talking about?” 

“Did you or did you not defend my department after the launch?”

Rufus releases her, straightening and taking a step back to consider her. He smiles coldly, infuriating Charlie.

“Charlotte! Charlotte?”

Both Charlie and Rufus turn towards the mouth of the Gold Saucer’s entrance, where Reeve is jogging towards the tram, spotting the siblings and slowing, approaching them very warily. 

Rufus’s smile widens in delight at the sight of Reeve. “Did he tell you that, sister?” he asks, malicious and excited. As Reeve finds a place at Charlie’s side, taking her hand and pulling gently, in the hopes of taking her away from her brother, Rufus adds, “Did you tell her about what _you_ said about it?”

Charlie blinks in surprise, looking from Rufus to Reeve and back again. “What are you talking about? What did—Reeve, what did you say?”

“Reeve was the first to agree with me about shutting down the department,” Rufus laughs, folding his arms over his chest. It’s all a big game to him. It’s always been a big game to him, a joke. 

Reeve has the grace to look ashamed, turning his face away from Charlie, who feels herself deflate. “Reeve?”

“We all know why he did it,” Rufus continues, teeth bared in a grim imitation of a smile. “He was jealous of that pilot. Anything to separate you two, isn’t that right?” He touches Charlie’s hair affectionately, kissing her forehead. “Reeve, see my lovely sister home safely, would you? I think I have a few more races to bet on.”

Charlie can’t breathe, can hardly speak. She allows Rufus to walk away, even though she would much rather have her brother here right now, bringing her safely home. 

“Charlie . . .”

“How could you _do_ that to me?”

Reeve holds his hands up in surrender, stepping closer to her. “Charlotte, listen to me—Rufus was the one who—”

“I don’t care about Rufus right now!” Charlie runs a hand through her hair restlessly. “I know what Rufus is. I know how he felt about my department, but you knew how important that was to me! You knew that was my _dream!_ And you didn’t even defend me—you were my _best friend!_ ” 

“Nothing I said would have saved your department,” Reeve replies steadily, looking pained. “Your father was looking for an excuse to defund the entire program—”

“You should have stood up for me! You should have defended me!” Charlie counters, tears springing to her eyes. “I would have done the same for you!”

“Charlie, Charlie, please listen to me—” Reeve cups her face in his large hands, his eyebrows knitted together. “There was no money to be made, only money to be lost in another launch—the timing was bad, and it was the best decision for the company in the long run—the department was only losing the company money—”

“Don’t do that to me,” Charlie snarls, taking hold of his wrists to tear them away from her face. “You lied to me about it, Reeve, to what end? To make yourself look good in front of me? To make yourself out as some hero?”

“I only wanted to comfort you—”

He reaches out for her again, but she swats his hands away, shaking her head slowly. “I can get home myself.”

* * *

Charlie’s phone rings non-stop for about thirty minutes. She’s left it on the dining table, where it vibrates loudly against the wood, but Rufus doesn’t mind so much, lounging on the sofa and watching the latest newscast with his feet propped up, listening to the faint crying of his sister from her bedroom.

After a few minutes of silence, he stands, bends over to pet the bulky head of his pup, and walks over to her phone to see how many times that bastard has actually attempted to call her. He’s sure that if Reeve knew Charlie was here alone, he would certainly come to collect his wife-to-be. As it happens, with Rufus currently in the beach house with her, it’s unlikely Reeve will come at all.

Twenty-seven missed calls (surprisingly, not all of them from Reeve) and six voicemails (those are all from Reeve). Curious, Rufus plays the first voicemail and holds the phone up to his ear.

“ _Charlie, I wish you would answer your phone. If you give me time to explain, I’m sure it will be easier for you to understand_.”

Rufus scoffs, listening to the next one.

“ _I love you, Charlie, please answer your phone._ ”

The next one is very similar.

“ _Charlie, please come home. I don’t want to fight with you about something that happened over four years ago. Please come home, my love._ ”

It makes him want to vomit. 

It’s almost amusing to him, that Charlie would be so angry with Reeve over something that Rufus did, as well. If she knew what Rufus had _really_ done in regards to her rocket launch . . . if she knew that it was his fault it . . . well . . .

A story for another time, perhaps. But not here, not now, not while she’s sobbing upstairs in her bed. 

With a sigh, Rufus climbs the stairs and knocks on his sister’s bedroom door. “Charlie, come out of there.”

To his great surprise, Charlie opens the door seconds after his request. Her eyes are puffy and swollen and bloodshot, her hair a mess and her makeup smeared, making her look like some kind of beautiful raccoon. Her bottom lip quivers as she looks at him, still in the dress she had been wearing at the Gold Saucer. 

“Are you ready to come out now?” 

“No,” she tells him tearfully, making to slam the door again, but Rufus holds his hand out to stop it. “Leave me alone.”

“Charlie,” Rufus says with a smile, letting himself into her bedroom by pushing past her, watching her wrap her arms around herself, standing in the middle of her bedroom. He sits down on the side of her bed, looking around and opening his arms for her. “Come here, sweet sister.”

She obliges, sitting down slowly beside him and letting down her guard. Huffing loudly, she curls up at his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder and hugging his arm. Rufus kisses her hair, holding her close. 

“Don’t cry, Charlie,” he murmurs against her hair, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the hair so like his own. “Especially not over that _oaf_ you’re going to marry.”

“He’s not an oaf,” she replies shakily. “I love him.”

The words set a fire in his chest. “He lied to you.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t love him anymore.”

Rufus scowls, allowing Charlie to move closer, to bury her face into his chest and cry harder. He wraps his arms around her, holding her until she begins to quiet again. 

“Rufus, sometimes I feel like you don’t know anything about love,” she rasps after a little while, tilting her head back to look up at him. 

He bristles, the scowl still stuck to his face. “What are you talking about? I love _you_ , don’t I?”

This makes Charlie smile, albeit reluctantly. “Then I must be the luckiest woman in the world, and the only one who can claim that honor.”

“Charlie, I want you to listen to me,” he orders her gently, touching her chin to tilt her head back again. “Why did you go to Rocket Town?”

She blinks up at him, obviously confused at his sudden change of topic. “What do you mean? I went to go look at the rocket, and to keep it from being reduced to scrap metal.”

“Did you see your pilot?”

He watches her think for a moment, the gears in her brain spinning. “Briefly,” she admits. “He cornered me while I was in the rocket.”

Not wanting to seem too eager, Rufus nods sympathetically, frowning at her. “Why don’t you take a short vacation to Rocket Town?” he suggests casually. “You can . . . relive your very exciting past with your pilot, and no one will be any the wiser. You know that I am your most trusted confidante, Charlie. Your secret will be safe with me.”

“Why would you want me to do that?” she asks, narrowing her swollen eyes at him. “You hated Cid, more than you hate Reeve.”

He holds her face in his hands, brushing tears away with his thumbs. “Because I can’t bear to see you so depressed,” he says, feigning concern. “I want to see you happy again, sister, the way that you were when you were with Cid.”

It takes her a long time to answer. “I can’t.”

Rufus’s face hardens. “Why not?”

She shows off the sparkling engagement ring on her left hand. While it is beautiful and elegant and it seems to fit so nicely on her hand, Rufus can’t help but suppress the urge to tear it from her finger and crush it beneath his shoe.


	6. Chapter 6

“I have to go to Rocket Town.”

“Rocket Town?”

“At least for a few days. I still want to visit the orphanage tomorrow.”

Reeve takes a moment to consider her. Her face has lost some color over the past few days, ever since she came home and fell back into his arms, assuring him that all was forgiven and she still loved him. His gift of a brand new telescope likely helped expedite her forgiveness. 

He opens his mouth and inhales deeply, hesitating, watching her from across the round table. “What’s in Rocket Town?”

Charlie stares blankly back at him. “My rocket,” she supplies, an impatient bite to her tone. 

Right, he probably deserved that. 

The idea of her going to Rocket Town under any other circumstances would not be something to give him such pause, but knowing that she had spent time cooped up with her brother before presenting this suggestion makes him slightly wary. However, Reeve doesn’t think he can really picture how a visit to Rocket Town would benefit Rufus at all, so he really has no logical reason to deny her this. 

“Will that make you happy?” he asks, struggling to understand her motives. Just last week she had confessed that seeing her rocket had left her feeling horrible, and now she wants to go back?

“I don’t know,” Charlie says plainly. 

“Would you like me to go with you?”

Her expression seems to indicate otherwise, while trying to remain polite about it. 

They eat by the light of the gold chandelier that hangs above their informal dining table, and their black-and-white cat (a stray Charlie had aptly named ‘Cat’ in the hopes of not getting too attached to it, but it’s been three years now and Cat sleeps in bed with her most nights) rubs against his leg, purring. He can still hear the muted voice of the news anchor on the television still on in the kitchen. 

“No more than a week,” Charlie implores him, and her pleading tone makes him feel guilty. “One week, and then I’ll be able to finally put this all behind me, once and for all.”

Reeve watches her eat, taking dainty bites of her food, a million miles away from the conversation. It’s odd to see her so distant, and it’s a little sad. “I don’t see why not,” he answers carefully. “When do you plan on leaving?”

“In a few days,” she says. “Rufus wants to have dinner with me before I go.”

“You’ve been traveling a lot to Costa del Sol lately,” Reeve notes, looking down at his plate again, trying to sound as casual as possible. “All that traveling is going to catch up with you someday.”

“Tell that to my father,” Charlie scoffs, patting her face with her napkin. “Maybe he’ll finally let Rufus back into Midgar for good.”

Reeve purses his lips. The very last thing he wants, in fact, is for Rufus to come back to Midgar. Rufus’s attachment to his older sister has always been a cause for concern among their father, he knows, and Reeve himself has even wondered a few times if there were hidden intentions behind Rufus’s love for her, a love he shows for no one and for nothing else. 

It’s unnerving at times, the possessive way he speaks of his own sister. 

He remembers the evening he had asked President Shinra to marry Charlie (that had, no doubt, been the most frightening evening of his life)—the president had told him of multiple men that had been driven away by Rufus, who would stop at nothing to keep Charlie from relying on anyone else, though he had seen first hand what lengths her brother had been willing to go.

“I want you to fire your assistant,” Charlie says suddenly.

“Hm?” Reeve pauses. The girl had only been relocated two weeks ago, from Heidegger’s employ. “Why?”

“I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

The matter-of-fact way she says it, without even looking up from her dinner plate, without any hesitation—it’s endearing. 

“I’ll have her relocated again tomorrow morning,” he replies. 

Charlie hums agreeably, looking up to smile so innocently at him. 

He had been meaning to do _something_ with her, because Charlie’s right—the girl (he can’t even remember her name—Rhea? Rita? what does it matter?) does look at him an awful lot, and enjoys needling him during free moments throughout the day about his engagement to Charlie, to which he makes sure to announce, very loudly, that their engagement is a _happy_ one, even though she very clearly doesn’t want to hear it.

But it _is_ a happy one. 

How could he not be smitten by her? Sitting across the table from one of the most powerful women in the world, watching her hum to herself and eat, occasionally smiling at him. Sometimes it’s so easy, during their domestic routine, to forget who she is, whose daughter she is, whose sister she is. 

However, nothing—not even her name—could change his mind now, not now that he knows what she looks like in the mornings with the sun shining on her bare back, or the way she looks while she’s asleep against him on the sofa, or the way she wakes him with kisses before getting out of bed, and then he’s able to hear her soft humming in the shower and that’s intoxicating in its own right. The image of her spread out beneath him or the sound of her breathy voice whispering his name over and over again are things that will never leave him now. 

“Would you like to pick my assistant this time?” he asks, smiling at the sight of her own little shy one. “I seem to have horrible luck keeping one for longer than a month.”

“They absolutely must be much older than you,” she teases him, raising her eyebrows. “Horrible, ugly old crones, to keep you from giving in to temptation.” Charlie lowers her fork, putting her elbows on the table to prop her head up. There’s a dreamy, glossed-over look about her (she’s drunk again, for the third night in a row), but he can’t say the look isn’t attractive. “You’re mine, you know. I’ll call you every night when I’m away, until you’re sick of my voice.”

“You’ll never have time to sleep, I’m afraid.”

“Do you remember when you used to go away on those business trips with my father?”

He nods. Her father had been interested in always finding new places to put new reactors, and Reeve had utilized the environment for said reactors, which took weeks of surveying sometimes, weeks away from Midgar, weeks away from Charlie. 

“You used to call me every night when you got back to your bed, with your ‘status reports’ on my father being your excuse to call so often.” Charlie giggles, watching Cat run off into the sitting room in a streak of black and white. Her eyes linger on the half-open door. “I confess, I didn’t give a damn about how my father was doing.”

“I never really believed you did.”

“You were so shy, even after we’d slept together.”

Reeve feels himself color, growing warm around the collar. It only makes her smile more, her eyes finding his face again. The first few months after sleeping with her, he still wasn’t certain he hadn’t taken advantage of her. “Charlie, sometimes I think you live to embarrass me,” he laughs.

“I hope you’re not embarrassed.” She shifts awkwardly in her seat. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He shakes his head.

He knows how this goes. Next, she’ll say something like—“Make love to me.”

And he’ll smile and say something ridiculous like—“Yes, Miss Shinra,” because that will make her smile, too. 

And he’ll carry her off to the bedroom while she laughs in his arms, kissing him all over his face and neck until he can deposit her on the bed and begin to help her shed her clothes. 

Lo and behold, he wakes the next morning to her kisses, feather light on the side of his neck. Stirring, Reeve moves slowly and clumsily to wrap an arm around her, to hold her close, her beautiful mouth pressing kisses further up his neck, on his bearded jawline, on his cheekbone, right next to his ear. 

“Wake up,” she whispers, kissing him on the mouth. He opens his eyes, still groggy, the sun shining through the windows. She’s always been a morning person. “You’re coming to the orphanage with me today.”

“I thought I might work from home today,” he moans, threading his fingers through soft and tangled hair. “I need absolute quiet to finish the load of work I’ve been putting off.”

She laughs against his skin. “Lazy,” she teases, likely knowing very well he’ll come with her in the end. “The kids all love you.”

“Do they?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, her face looming inches from his, her pointed chin resting on his chest. “But _I_ love you, and that’s good enough, isn’t it?”

“Very well,” he replies with a soft sigh, blinking away the sleep that threatens to take him again. 

It takes a helicopter to get them safely to the Sector Five slums—himself, Charlie, and all of Charlie’s gifts, packed away neatly in a large trunk that she had been afraid to carry on a train. 

The Sector Five slums are a little more civilized than the small shanty towns beneath the other sectors, and it smells a little less, but still more than it should. Having shown their faces in the slums here many times before, Charlie is most welcome, and very generous to anyone who approaches her, as well, which always makes Reeve wary, as any one of these people could hurt her severely in such a mass of confusion. 

When they finally make it into the slip of sunlight that shines down upon the flowery and dilapidated orphanage, its walls marked with graffiti, the children shriek with joy at the sight of Charlie, especially the little ones. 

She drops her trunk at the sound of, “ _Charlieeeeeeee!_ ”, the dirty and ragged kids filing out of the building and screaming her name, and he’s unable to even imagine what President Shinra might say to hear his daughter addressed so boldly. 

Seven children total surround her, asking questions and touching her hair and looking at her engagement ring. When one of the younger girls expresses a genuine interest in her golden necklace, Charlie laughs and removes it, placing it around the girl’s neck and smiling at the expression of pure joy on the girl’s face. 

“Did you bring us something?” one of the boys asks excitedly. 

“You mean besides Reeve?” Charlie jokes, ruffling his hair. “He missed you so much, he absolutely _begged_ me to come along.”

They all laugh, and she looks over her shoulder to smile at him. 

Reeve hangs back as Charlie shows off the new electric airplane that she had built, showing the orphans how to work the controller. The buzzing propellers start up a bunch of impressed noises from everyone around them, even those who have stepped out of the community center to see what the trouble is. 

Her smile is so wide and genuine and beautiful, her eyes following her airplane as she passes off the controller, laughing as the boy struggles to maintain control. Charlie had spent days attempting to make the airplane nearly indestructible—the last three had been broken very quickly by overeager children. 

She is so warm, so patient, so wonderful and maternal with the children, and Reeve feels a pang of longing in his heart. She’ll be a wonderful mother, if he ever gives in to her. The idea of having his wife birth their son, only to have him taken under the wing of President Shinra is nearly unbearable and something Reeve wishes to avoid at all costs. 

The children are overcome with excitement at the other things she’s brought, as well—enough candy to last them weeks, old clothes that she’s grown out of that have been stuffed in her closet for years, little trinkets for them to keep under their beds, old jewelry for the girls. 

“It’s so good of you to come again,” says a voice in his ear, making him jump. It’s only Ms. Folia, her square-shaped glasses resting on the dirt-stained bridge of her nose. “They’ve been asking after her.” She elbows him gently in the arm. “And you.”

Reeve reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, removing two fat coin purses, offering them to Ms. Folia. “This one is for the orphanage,” he tells her, watching her face soften as he places the money in her hands, “and Charlie said you would know what to do with the other one.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, clutching his elbow. “The children simply adore her.”

They both look towards Charlie again, her skinny arms wrapped around another girl who’s giving the airplane a test run, her little hands covering Charlie’s as they both attempt to maneuver the controls. 

“Sometimes I can’t believe that she’s the president’s daughter,” Ms. Folia says quietly. 

Reeve snorts. “You?” he asks, crossing his arms across his chest and sighing. “I’m marrying her, and I _still_ have trouble believing it.”

“It would be a joyous day for everyone in Midgar if she were to be made president after her father.”

He smiles warmly. “It certainly would be.”

* * *

“I hear you and Director Tuesti are to be married soon.”

“Mireille . . . you and your rumors. How are you so well informed?”

“It’s hard not to notice the rock on your finger, Miss Shinra,” says Mireille, gesturing slightly at Charlie’s left hand. “It’s not wise to wander around the slums with a ring worth millions.” They step to the second story window, looking down to observe the children, who climb up Reeve’s body, laughing as he stumbles and falls beneath the weight of several children, grunting as he collides with the hard dirt ground, but in good spirits. “He seems a good man.”

“He is,” Charlie assures her, smiling down at him. A good man with a good heart, despite his fellow directors preferring to call him a cowardly man with a soft heart (sometimes even to his face). She looks back at the old woman standing beside her. “What can we do for you? There must be something we can bring you.”

“More food,” the woman replies. “Money is good, but it’s impossible to grow our own food under the plate.”

“I’ll have some delivered tomorrow morning, and I’ll talk to Reeve about building a greenhouse once our housing complex is finished. Our research department is looking into mako farming.”

Mireille smiles tremulously, placing a warm and wrinkled and spotted hand on Charlie’s wrist. “Bless you, Miss Shinra. I hope your generosity does not trouble you topside.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if it did,” Charlie says, grinning. 

When Charlie makes her way out front of the orphanage again, Reeve has a little girl dangling from his neck, one of his arms supporting her as he points with his free hand at the airplane flying above their heads. He gives her an exasperated smile as she walks out, looking—as he always looks—completely exhausted.

“Are you leaving already, Charlie?” asks the girl hanging from Reeve’s neck, dropping to her feet. “You’re gonna stay for dinner, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, my love, but we have to go back and do at least _some_ work,” Charlie replies, placing a hand over her heart and kneeling down in front of her. “Listen, I’m taking a trip to Rocket Town soon. Should I bring back a souvenir for you?”

“Yes, please!” The girl becomes suddenly shy, moving closer to whisper into Charlie’s ear. “Is _he_ going to come next time? He promised he’d play with me.”

“I think you’ve worn him out, sweetheart,” Charlie laughs. 

“Oh, _Charlie!_ ” she sighs dramatically, clasping her hands together as if in prayer and dancing around Charlie. “I can’t _wait_ to see you in your wedding dress! You’re going to look like a real princess! Are you going to have babies?”

“That’s enough, Megga,” Ms. Folia says urgently, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder and flashing Charlie an apologetic glance. “Leave Miss Shinra and the director alone now. You’ve had your fun.”

They’re able to sneak away after Ms. Folia distracts them with some of the candy Charlie had brought, leaving the trunk behind in order to move more quickly through the makeshift streets. She drags Reeve by the hand back towards the outskirts, where they’ll be able to catch the helicopter again, greeting people on the street as they pass. 

Anywhere else and the people of the slums might try to steal from her, or hurt her, or spit on her, but not here in Sector Five. The rumors of her kindness and good deeds have spread quickly throughout this particular part of the slums, and Charlie doesn’t at all fear for her safety the way Reeve does, judging by the way his eyes dart back and forth suspiciously. 

The orphanage is a great source of joy for her, and it always has been, since first visiting three years ago. The children are all so loving and kind and sweet, always eager to play with her (and sometimes Reeve when he isn’t looking too horribly sullen), and it makes Charlie desperately want a child of her own.

She knows that Reeve is more than hesitant about that prospect. The both of them are smart enough to know that any son produced by them will not technically be _their_ son, but the _company’s_ son, groomed from a young age to run the company after Rufus. 

“Charlotte—” (he only calls her that when he’s swallowing the habit of calling her ‘Miss Shinra’) “—this isn’t the way back to the helicopter, is it?”

“The scenic route,” she tells him, pulling him down a tight alleyway that’s certainly not very visually pleasing at all. “All right, not the scenic route, but . . . the private and dark route.”

“Charlotte . . .”

“Shh,” she whispers, stopping in a shadowy alcove and pressing him against the wall with a gentle push. “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough.”

“We’re in the slums,” Charlie breathes, kissing him to stop him from talking. “I’m sure it happens all the time.”

She can feel his body tense when she touches the front of his pants, raising her hand slightly to toy with his belt buckle. “The last thing you need is for someone to catch Charlotte Shinra doing such—” He shudders visibly as she untucks his shirt, unbuckling his belt—“ _vulgar_ things to her father’s employee.”

“My father’s employee?” she repeats, and he finally cracks a smile for her, but it’s a nervous one. “You’re my fiancé.” Charlie holds up her ring, showing it off to the man who bought it for her. “Besides, didn’t that girl you used to meet up with live in this sector? Bet you did this all the time with her.”

“ _Gods,_ woman,” Reeve groans at her, placing his hands on her hips. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.” He maneuvers her around, her back coming to rest against the wall. “You were so sweet with those kids—I couldn’t stand it.” 

She’s interrupted by the sudden ringing of her phone, surprised when she sees it’s her father. Disgruntled, disappointed, and groaning, she answers the call.

“ _Char, where the hell are you?_ ”

“I’m in Sector Five. I had some business to take care of. What’s wrong?”

“ _I need you here, immediately. Meet me in my office the moment you get here._ ”

Charlie lowers her phone, pensive for a moment. “Pull up your pants, my love. I need to get back to Headquarters quickly.”

* * *

Scarlet is coming out of the President’s office as Charlie and Reeve approach. She wrinkles her nose at the sight of them. 

“You smell like the slums, the both of you. Where have you come from, anyway?”

Charlie frowns at her. “We went to visit the Leaf House.”

“Leaf House? The orphanage?” Scarlet laughs, turning bodily to face Reeve, raising an eyebrow. “A real advocate for the people, aren’t you? It’s no wonder Reeve is so taken with you.” She smiles sweetly at Reeve, but he quickly averts his eyes. “ _I_ heard there's some sort of vigilante running about calling themselves the Angel of the Slums. Is it you, Char?”

“Enough, Scarlet,” Reeve tells her, before Charlie has the chance to speak again. If Charlie could get another word in, the two women might be there for hours exchanging passive and not-so-passive insults with each other. “Charlie, I’ll see you later.” He kisses her cheek quickly outside the double doors to her father’s office.

“Good luck,” Scarlet coos, looking Reeve up and down with disinterest. “Aren’t you at least going to tuck your shirt in, Reeve?”

He flushes, a sweet sight even in such unlucky circumstances, grumbling under his breath and storming away from Scarlet, the person Charlie knows he hates the most in this entire building. 

Upon entering President Shinra’s office, the horrible smell of his cigar is the first thing to really affect her. It causes her stomach to turn, and his very serious demeanor makes her heart beat very fast. 

President Shinra regards his daughter with careful consideration as she steps up to his desk, her hands held behind her back. She hates coming here, hates standing here, hates being reminded of that day all those years ago when her father had stripped her of everything she had ever wanted. 

“Char, I have an important task for you,” the president announces after a moment, puffing on a half-burnt cigar. 

He gets to his feet to walk around the desk, and Charlie then feels the absence of Rufus more than she expected to. Without her brother—or even Reeve—here to stop their father from doing anything rash, she feels very vulnerable. Fortunately, he only gives her a few sheets of paper, and she takes them warily, flipping through the pages and skimming over the material.

“Tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to read that speech to the world during a global broadcast,” President Shinra continues. 

“Why me?” Charlie asks, bewildered. “Isn’t Heidegger usually in charge of these sorts of . . . messages?”

“Heidegger isn’t really the sort to inspire hope or confidence in anyone, do you think?” If Charlie didn’t know President Shinra hates jokes, she might think he’s making a joke. “But you . . . not only will people _want_ to look at you, but they will listen to you, as well.” He frowns, his eyes fixing on her face. “You think I made you Communications Director because I thought it was funny? Do you think I gave you that position out of spite? As some sort of joke?”

To be honest, she knows why her father gave her the position. Rufus and Charlie have discussed it before—the public’s general favor for Charlotte had not been lost on their father, and her voice is certainly one the people will listen to. 

Charlie continues to read quickly through the pages, her eyebrows knitted together. Slowly, she lifts her head to face her father. She knows better than to comment on the subject matter, despite how badly she wants to. 

“Is there something wrong with the speech, Char?”

“No, sir,” she replies softly, feigning a smile. “Nothing at all.”

“Good.” President Shinra checks his thick, glittering watch. “Then I’ll meet you in the press room tomorrow morning to prepare you.” He looks back up at his daughter, touching her chin with fat fingers to raise her face. “I put you in your position because I trust you to do your job well. You hold one of the most important positions in the company, despite what you may think about it. You are in charge of providing the people with hope, with comfort . . . you are the one holding their hands through difficult times, through times of war. Your smiling face is the face they look to during hard times. Are you capable of doing that, Char?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good. Now listen very closely to me, because I’m only going to say this once.” The hand touching Charlie’s chin is lowered back to the president’s side. “Whatever humanitarian mission you think you’re on . . . Reeve will have no part of it. The last thing I need is for my own daughter and her husband to rise to power on the shoulders of the people living in the slums, a rag-tag resistance army at your backs. Stay out of the slums if you know what’s good for you and for the people.”

“Scared, Father?” she almost says, but Rufus isn’t here to defend her, and the last thing she wants is to crawl from her father’s office beaten and bloodied (though he hasn’t _really_ hit her for several long years, ever since she became an adult). Instead she settles with, “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, but Charlie lingers. President Shinra sighs very heavily as he sinks back into his chair, resting an elbow upon the arm to prop his head up. “What do you need, Char?” he grunts, hardly looking at her, too busy watching the monitors that are lined up on his desk. “I can only assume you’re going to ask me about your god forsaken brother.”

Charlie blushes. “It’s been so long, papa—”

“Nothing you say will change my mind.” He seems exasperated at the mere thought of his son. “If it were up to me, I would keep him a world away from you always. The boy has no sense sometimes and only works half as hard as he should.” Finally, President Shinra looks up at her. “Maybe I should make you vice president instead. Defiant as you are, you don’t look for a way to spite me every time the opportunity presents itself.” And then, as an afterthought, he adds, “And you certainly don’t think of the Turks as your friends.”

“I don’t quite think that’s exactly how Rufus would describe them.”

“At least Rufus knows when to be serious,” President Shinra snaps, giving her a look that indicates her mild humor is not welcome in this office. “Your mother liked to joke. I don’t know if you remember much of her.”

Charlie nods slowly. Her father _never_ talks about her mother. 

“She loved to laugh and smile. Determined, defiant, disobedient. Sound familiar?” He looks away again, scoffing through his nose. “Sooner or later, you need to grow up, Charlotte. One day, it might be _you_ running this company, but I will not let you sit in this chair and perform your little comedy routine.”

Charlotte swells with fury. As if she would ever run the company the way her father would, with money and secrets and lies. All she can say is, “Yes, daddy.”

“Go practice your speech now, and leave me to do my work.”

“Yes, sir.”


	7. Chapter 7

“. . . recent intelligence states that Wutai has been backing the eco-terrorist group Avalanche, in the hopes of destroying our great mako city of Midgar, in the hopes of seeing our dreams turned to ashes . . .”

She looks so fucking beautiful that he hasn’t heard one word that’s come out of her pretty little mouth . . . until that last sentence, which reminds him cruelly that she’s only spouting her father’s bullshit lies and conspiracy theories like some kind of realistic puppet. 

He and Shera watch in silence—Shera with her hot tea and he with his cold beer. He hasn’t even showered yet, his hands still greasy from the work he had been doing on his Tiny Bronco, his hair still sticky with sweat and sticking up all over from where his hands had dragged through it.

“. . . we want Wutai and Avalanche to know that Shinra Incorporated will not be cowed, especially not when the people of our great city are being threatened . . .”

She’s standing behind some tall podium with the Shinra logo on it, her back to a wall with another logo on it and looking into the camera, a digital banner at the bottom of the screen reading _CHARLOTTE SHINRA_ , as if he doesn’t know who she is. It makes Cid feel like she’s talking directly to him. 

Her hair looks almost golden in all the yellow lighting, sleek and straight and tucked behind her ears with their sparkling diamond earrings. Her eyes are pale, almost gray, and sometimes she moves her left hand just right and he’s able to catch a glimpse of that ugly fucking engagement ring on her finger. 

“. . . any threat to the people’s safety, comfort, or wellbeing will not be taken lightly, and any misdeeds will not go unpunished . . .”

Charlie almost looks damn presidential, with a face not unlike her father’s, stoic, but compassionate even in her ferocity. 

“. . . anyone found to be part of the terrorist group called Avalanche will face execution, and anyone found guilty of associating or sympathizing with the terrorist group called Avalanche will be faced with severe sentencing as befit their crimes. Let it be known that Shinra does not negotiate with terrorists . . .”

Something about the speech being given by _her_ makes him sick. 

“. . . why President Shinra has authorized the use of lethal force in the apprehension of known Avalanche members . . .”

How can she possibly be so calm? How can she not show any sign of frustration, of fury?

“. . . we expect full cooperation in our efforts to destroy the terrorist organization that threatens our city and our lives. We expect _full_ cooperation from the residents of Midgar, elsewise face punishment . . .”

Fuck, he’s glad he’s not in Midgar. Not that he keeps particularly close tabs on Midgar, but he’s still in touch with a few people he went to the academy with, and according to them, Shinra keeps the city on a tight leash, under martial law. 

“. . . Shinra’s number one priority is the safety of Midgar’s people, and this is why we have therefore decided to dispatch more security officers to regularly patrol the slums. Any suspicious behavior should be reported to an officer immediately, so further steps can be taken to ensure the city’s safety. A reward will be given to those whose information leads to the capture and arrest of known Avalanche members . . .”

Whoever this is giving the speech, it can’t be Charlie, it _can’t_ be Lottie.

“. . . by cooperating with our security officers, you may be able to make a difference in the greatest city in the world. We at Shinra work tirelessly to continue to promote the growth and prosperity of Midgar, and it is our greatest honor to witness what our hard work has accomplished and provided for so many people . . .”

Cid grunts, almost laughing. 

“. . . we will not be defeated, quelled, or subdued with the power of the people behind us to protect their families and their livelihoods . . .”

Her face is cold, her painted red lips moving slowly to get her point across. 

“. . . by combating the seeds of terrorism now, we may prevent another long war with our enemy, Wutai . . .”

Another long war? As far as Cid knows, the war was only put on hold, and that was only because Wutai was running out of resources and about to be crushed under Shinra’s boot. 

“. . . as always, the Shinra Electric Power Company thanks the citizens of Midgar for promoting its constant betterment, as well as those watching from around the globe, and we sincerely hope that you enjoy the rest of your day.”

In the milliseconds between her farewell and the broadcast shutting off, Cid witnesses the corners of her lips quirk upwards, her eyes moving quickly towards something slightly off screen, but before her smile can truly widen, the channel is replaced with black, nothingness, quiet, before a movie starts from somewhere in the middle. 

It’s a moment before either of them speak, still digesting what they’ve just heard come from Charlotte fucking Shinra’s mouth. 

“What a load of steamin’ bullshit,” Cid grumbles, his heart racing just thinking about it. “At least we didn’t have to look at that fuckin’ ugly piece of shit they normally have on. Ain’t you glad we live in Rocket Town? Far away from that fuckin’ company. If they ever try to put a reactor here, I’ll die tryin’ to stop ‘em. Greedy sons of bitches.”

Shera is still looking at the screen, eyes glazed over behind her glasses. “Did you see her? When she came?”

Cid scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he admits. “She ain’t changed one bit.” He pulls a soft pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket, lighting one up, even as Shera wrinkles her nose. “Fuckin’ princess, walkin’ around with an engagement ring worth more money than I’ll ever see in my goddamn life.”

His counterpart is quiet for a few moments, looking down into her teacup. “But that speech . . . doesn’t sound like her,” she says, not even confident enough to fucking look at him in the face while she’s talking. 

“Are you stupid?” he snaps, swallowing the urge to laugh in her face. “That’s the same girl who gave me the order to kill you. She’s a cold-hearted daddy’s girl, whose daddy happens to be President Shinra, the worst fuckin’ person on the planet.”

Finally, Shera lifts her eyes to meet his own. “I know it wasn’t personal.”

“Not _personal?_ ” 

“You were so eager and willing to sacrifice yourself for that launch . . . for _her_ ,” Shera protests, getting to her feet. The way she speaks, so plainly, so boldly, so harshly, surprises him. She hardly ever speaks to him like this, and it reminds him of when Charlie would get all fucking bossy and controlling, telling him what to do in a tone that brooked no argument. “You should have respected my decision to do the same!”

Cid stands up to hover over her, putting his hands on his hips and cocking an eyebrow. She’s just talking nonsense now, just like always. “Don’t be stupid, Shera. I wasn’t gonna kill you. No _sacrifice_ of yours would’ve been remembered fondly. You ain’t even gonna _thank_ me?”

“Speak for yourself!” Shera huffs, bending over to pick up a lone pillow off the floor, some decorative pillow she’d bought to sit on their couch and look nice. He doesn’t expect her to throw it at his face. Cid puts his hands up too late, feeling the cool cotton slap against his sticky face. “Like she would have remembered any sacrifice _you_ would have made! The minute you were dead, she would have trained another astronaut and moved on!”

She storms out of the sitting room, leaving Cid bewildered, holding the pillow in his hands that’ll need to be washed now, after his sweaty face had rubbed all over it. He attempts to brush it off, throwing it back onto the couch, half-heartedly promising to clean it later.

* * *

She almost cries, until she sees Reeve smile at her from just behind the camera directly in front of her, missing his suit jacket to look terribly handsome in his blindingly white undershirt with his skinny tie, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His presence is enough to cradle her comfortingly for a fleeting second before the words of the speech come back to her and, as the broadcast shuts off, he seems to recognize something is terribly off. 

He rushes to her side, the small crew parting for him without a word. Charlie looks around as his arms envelope her, and President Shinra watches their ‘celebratory’ embrace with a face that could be carved from stone. It takes her a few seconds to realize her arms are being held awkwardly in the air, almost afraid to touch Reeve while her father is watching her so sternly.

Having been painted with makeup beforehand, when Reeve pulls away from her and their cheeks brush, he comes away with some glitter along his cheekbone and in his beard. Charlie attempts to brush it off, but it’s no use, and he doesn’t seem to mind so much. 

As he praises her (something she will certainly never get tired of) softly for the wonderful job she’s done (it’s unlike him to miss a globally broadcasted speech of hers), Charlie’s mind is far elsewhere, and all she can offer him in reply in a nervous and dreamy smile, eyes occasionally darting towards her father, his lingering gaze on his daughter on and future son-in-law making Charlie very nervous.

She had been such a stupid, idiotic, and hypocritical coward. 

Upon returning home last night together, Charlie had read Reeve the speech in its entirety, and by the end, it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. The authority of it all, the sugar-coated message for the people, the lies lies lies lies lies _lies_ . . . 

It isn’t like Reeve hadn’t expressed any concerns. The moment she had finished, he had tilted his head like a little puppy dog, narrowing his eyes at her, and asked: “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” And the moment the words had left his mouth, his entire body had tensed, as if he had momentarily forgotten who he was speaking to, as if he knew he had crossed a line. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

But Charlie wasn’t angry. “No,” she had said, putting him at ease once more. “I don’t believe it.”

She had hardly slept last night, wondering what she might say if she had the opportunity to say anything. She could stand up in front of that camera and denounce her father’s company for its many war crimes and crimes against humanity, for the fraud committed, conspiracies woven, bribes made and accepted, not to mention the pollution and damage against the planet that comes from the reactors alone. 

Charlie is certain there are more examples, but so much is kept from her, even by Reeve, she knows. 

And when she stepped up to the podium, she had been reminded of a saying Rufus liked to say when they were children, when it became clear that President Shinra had no intentions to give Charlie the position of vice president.

“Don’t worry so much about it,” he would tell her at night, lying beside her in her bed at the beach house, eleven years old and already a man, it seemed, so detached and cold. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” 

What she hadn’t expected, the morning following her meeting with President Shinra, was her father himself to join her in the press room for the entirety of her speech, waiting stoically and threateningly by the back wall, puffing lazily on his fat cigar, looking as if he knew _exactly_ what she was planning on doing and making it clear that he will not allow it. 

Seeing her father had broken her resolution, and she had read the speech given to her as best she could, so as not to give President Shinra anything extra to complain about. 

“Listen, I’m going to have to work late tonight,” Reeve says again, placing his hands upon his shoulders as she blinks rapidly, trying to remember what it was he was even saying in the first place. “But I had Pia make us reservations for tomorrow night at eight.”

“What? No, no, no!” Charlie whispers, frowning. She should have seen something like this coming. “I thought we were going to leave early to have dinner with Rufus!”

He smiles not-so-apologetically. “I have yet to hire another assistant. Why do you think I had Pia make the reservations?”

She sighs, nodding. “All right. It’s probably better that you don’t come anyway. No offense.”

His relief is palpable. “None taken.”

They make their way towards the door together, and Charlie desperately hopes that her father will let them go without stopping them, but that hope is dashed the moment Reeve opens the door for her. 

She freezes in place as President Shinra walks slowly over towards her, as if they all have all the time in the world. Holding her breath, she watches her father raise his hand, fighting the instinctive urge to flinch wildly away from him, but the hand that touches the side of her face is gentle, giving her cheek a small, approving pat.

“Excellent work today, Char,” he says, slipping through the open door that Reeve still holds open. 

“Thank you,” she says softly to his back, letting go of her breath and allowing her heart to start beating again. Turning to face Reeve, she smiles. “Can I do my work in your office?”

“I’ll never get anything done with you in my office,” he teases, leading her down the corridor towards the elevators. 

“I swear, I’ll only be working.”

“I know what that means,” he continues, pressing the button for the glass elevator to bring them up a few floors. They lower their voices as others begin to gather around, waiting for another elevator to take them down for lunch. “You’ll work for five minutes before finding a cozy little place in my lap, or on my desk.”

“I can’t help it,” Charlie sighs, wrapping her hands around his arm as the elevator dings, and they enter alone, leaving everyone else out in the lobby. “You look so handsome while you work.” When he shakes his head, smiling shyly to himself, she holds onto his hand, leaning into him to admire the cityscape sprawled out in front of her as they rise through Headquarters, just until the sixty-fifth level, where his office is located. “How did I get so lucky, marrying some kind of genius?”

“Is that what you think?” he asks, raising an eyebrow playfully. “High praise, coming from a genius herself.”

Charlie holds her hands behind her back, smiling innocently and giving him a slight shrug. As the elevator dings to let Reeve off, Charlie waves as the doors begin to close slowly again, leaving her alone. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, then!”

She knows how this goes. By the time she gathers her things out of her own office on the sixty-sixth floor and enters Reeve’s own office, his desk will be cleared off and his important sketches and reports and manuscripts will be piled off to the side, far away from the desk, where they run the risk of being crumpled or damaged or torn. 

And that’s exactly how it is when she lets herself into his office, his assistant missing and her desk cleared out (Charlie recalls seeing her working the reception booth at the main entrance this morning) and empty. While Reeve is seemingly hard at work already, squinting at the screens on his desk and looking half-disgusted by something, he’s moved all the files and paperwork that are normally stacked on the corners of his desk, even the cup of fountain pens all labeled with golden writing that reads _Shinra Electric Power Company_ on the sides. 

Charlie walks around his office for a few minutes, smiling when she catches him looking away from his computer at her to watch her for three or four seconds before smiling and going back to his work. 

There are a few framed photographs of Reeve and Charlie together, as well as Reeve with other business partners, mentors from his boyhood, and old architect friends. On the corner of his desk is one of the more professional photos of the two of them, taken shortly after they had gotten engaged. 

On another wall is a sketch of the home Reeve had once promised Charlie, framed with a gilded golden frame. It had been redrawn three times to feature a massive library, two large office that sit side-by-side and are connected with a secret passageway in case they want to talk to each other, a wine cellar (that had been Charlie’s idea) and a garden in the backyard (that had been wishful thinking, but he allowed Charlie to paint some small flowers on the parchment paper to make her happy, and it did). Beside it is the latest magazine cover he’d taken from her office, a smiling Charlotte Shinra on the front. 

“Construction is going well,” he says after a moment, and Charlie walks around his desk to look at what he’s referring to. It’s a long e-mail with plenty of spelling errors, to be sure, but the picture attached to it is of the freshly leveled ground in the Sector Seven slums, the foundation almost ready to be poured. “Unfortunately, I had to send some reinforcements to keep watch. There have been more people out on the streets now that construction is started.”

She smiles at him, running her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back out of his eyes. “Excellent work, Director,” she replies, and he rests his head against her stomach, closing his eyes. “You’re not sleeping well, and you’re working too much.”

“Speak for yourself.” Reeve leans back to look up at her. “They’re not going to take kindly to you after that speech you gave. Half of the Sector Seven slums are at least _sympathetic_ towards Avalanche.”

Charlie’s smile fades and she stands up straighter, wandering away to the other side of his desk. “I’ll be fine,” she tells him. “Don’t worry about me.” She sinks into an empty chair, rubbing her temples. “I never should have given that speech. I told myself after reading it once that I wouldn’t, that my father couldn’t make me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t have a choice.” Reeve turns back to his computer monitor, clicking distractedly and typing painfully slowly. 

“Of course I had a choice,” she replies. “I could have chosen not to read it.”

“And your father would have stripped you of your title, your office, your duties. Is that what you wanted?”

“No, but now I’m complicit in whatever executions are carried out.”

Reeve gives her a steady look, wary, knowing, understanding. “We’re all complicit, Charlie, so long as we continue to work here at Headquarters, furthering Shinra’s goal of undermining Avalanche,” he reminds her softly. “Avalanche is still a terrorist cell, even if they have good intentions.”

“They fight for the planet,” she counters, knowing that she shouldn’t be talking like this in his office, but she wants to say what she wants to say now, before she doesn’t have the chance. “It’s _your_ reactors that are killing the planet.” He looks at her pointedly, as if he doesn’t want to be reminded of this little fact. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“What do you want me to do, Charlie?” he asks defensively, lowering his hands from the keyboard to lace them together upon his desk, leaning forward towards her and lowering his voice again. “Shutting down reactors means that people won’t have any electricity or comfort. The power will be knocked out of an entire sector with _one_ reactor shut down, and if it were to be shut down, your father would just have it turned right back on.” He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I’m not the bad guy here—”

“No, no, no,” she says quickly, mentally kicking herself. “I know you’re not.” The more she thinks about it, however, the more it makes her sick. “My father, my brother, my family. _Me_. We’re the bad guys, aren’t we?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

“Why don’t we talk about this later?” Reeve raises his eyebrows in warning, shrugging his shoulders. 

Charlie wordlessly agrees. By the time she makes it home from Costa del Sol tonight, he’ll likely be fast asleep and in no mood for talking, and then she’ll be in Rocket Town for at least a week before they have the chance to really discuss things again. 

He’s right, she thinks. All this traveling _is_ catching up to her. She’s become far too accustomed with the inside of a helicopter or the private plane she uses that takes her from Midgar to Junon to Costa del Sol. 

But it’s all to see Rufus. All of it has always been for Rufus. 

There’s a bullish few knocks on the door of Reeve’s office, and he hesitates before calling them in. To Charlie’s great displeasure, Heidegger swaggers in through the narrow door frame, his dark beard a wild, uneven tangle of coarse hair, his beetle eyes glittering in the yellow lighting of Reeve’s office mingled with the muted sunlight. 

Charlie stands at the sight of him, brushing herself off and fixing her hair. She has no desire to stay here and talk to the fat moron, or listen to the laugh of his that drives Reeve insane. Heidegger seems resolved to speak to her, however, stopping her before she’s able to leave by blocking the door with his massive body, nearly two or three heads taller than her and two or three times wider. 

“Your father was right, you know,” he says gruffly, his voice akin to nails on a chalkboard, making her cringe, “you did look much prettier delivering that speech than I would have.” 

He bursts into laughter, but neither Charlie nor Reeve laugh along with him. 

Heidegger looks towards Reeve, who has resumed his work at the computer, taking care to keep his eyes fixed on one monitor in particular. “What happened to that assistant that I sent to you? You didn’t fire her already, did you, Director? She was begging me to be transferred to Urban Development.”

“I’ll thank you now not to send any other begging women to my office,” Reeve says sharply, and Charlie shrugs innocently at Heidegger, who seems to understand the situation far more than he had let on at first. “I don’t want them.”

“Going somewhere, little lady?” Heidegger asks as Charlie attempts to slip out the door.

“I’m having dinner with my brother. Should I tell him that you were holding me up?”

Heidegger clears his throat, allowing her to pass.

* * *

“Excellent speech today, Charlie. I could hardly take my eyes away, it was . . . _invigorating_.” 

Charlie lifts her eyes from her plate, unamused. 

Despite the winter months coming on them, Costa del Sol is still hot—hotter than he likes it, personally, but at least he’s still able to have dinner with his lovely sister atop a dimly lit balcony with a perfect view of the deep blue ocean, being poured wine and fed fresh seafood by waiters dressed all in white. The breeze that comes off the water is salty and cool, blowing Charlie’s hair into her face at times and giving her a rather disheveled look. 

He can certainly see why Reeve is so attached to her in particular. Even when she was sixteen and still growing into herself, it was clear she was going to grow into a beautiful woman. Besides being beautiful, Rufus sincerely believes Charlie one of the smartest people he knows, and even he has to (grudgingly) admit that Reeve is one of those people, as well. 

If their mother had been so invested in _his_ education, as she had been in Charlie’s, maybe he would be just as intelligent, able to build a plane with his bare hands, able to build a rocket. 

Mother always did love Charlie best.

But instead, their father had made sure Rufus was introduced to and brought around the company since he could walk, teaching him the ins and outs of Shinra Headquarters and the job of president that Rufus would one day inherit. Charlie never had access to that, to many of the company’s secrets, to how the company runs. 

His sweet sister, made more beautiful by the naive innocence she still has left to her, not knowing that her husband-to-be still holds many secrets about the company that she remains blind to, and not knowing that Rufus knows far more than he likes to let on. 

The first-born daughter of President Shinra, receiving information that mere middle managers might receive—not quite enough to change their view of the company, but enough that it’s clear the company is not the most ethical, not the most moral, but still effective and still with an infinite amount of funds and still able to give comfort to the people of Midgar. It’s laughable, to think of how little his sister knows.

“I thought Reeve was going to come tonight,” Rufus says again after his sister refuses to answer him.

“He had to work late.”

“It’s probably for the best it’s just us, anyway.”

This seems to pique her interest, one of her eyebrows arching. “Why?”

Rufus shrugs, smiling as he sips at his wine. “Why not? Why shouldn’t I enjoy a beautiful dinner with my beautiful sister?”

Charlie doesn’t seem as thrilled as he does. Things like this always get to her, things that seem to cast doubt in her mind in regards to the company. But he also knows that in a few days, she’ll be herself again, and she’ll be all smiles and genuinely happy to be with him and want to help the company again the best she can. 

“Reeve and I set a date for the wedding. Did Father tell you?” 

This gives Rufus pause, lowering his fork and clutching at the cloth napkin in his lap. “No, he didn’t tell me.”

“The first of May.”

He forces himself to smile at her, reaching across the table with his free hand to squeeze his sister’s comfortingly. “I can’t wait.”

To his credit, Reeve isn’t particularly a bad man. If Charlie had settled for someone like Heidegger or Cid or whoever their father had in mind, Rufus might take slightly more issue with it. In truth, Reeve is very nearly perfect for his sister, but the idea still doesn’t sit well with Rufus.

He had been thirteen or fourteen when he had first been introduced to Reeve during a board meeting, sitting at his father’s side. Initially, Reeve had been hired on by their father as an architect who had promised to build machines that would harvest mako in order to use it to power Midgar.

Rufus hadn’t dreamed of the possibility of he and Charlie striking up the most unusual friendship, mostly built around their shared love for building, sketching, tinkering, and theater. 

After Reeve had come to work for President Shinra, it seemed like the only thing Charlie ever wanted to do was go to his office, to talk to him, to trail after him like a little puppy dog, not that her infatuation with him had been completely one-sided. She was still young back then, sixteen or so, but Reeve had still done everything she ever asked him to, never failed to procure for her some item she had been looking for, made sure that she was informed of what was going on during meetings she was barred from. 

And when she turned eighteen, when she finished her education and matured a little and secured herself an actual engineering position within President Shinra’s company, Charlie and Reeve had become, to Rufus’s great displeasure, inseparable. She would watch him sketch out useless old buildings for hours, never growing bored, and Reeve would watch her work in the hangar in silence, never tiring of asking her questions. 

Whenever he went away on business, all of his free time was spent on the phone with Charlie, and when he was in Midgar, they spent their free evenings seeing plays together and having dinner and going to fundraisers and galas and public events, and with every passing month, Rufus was able to see that Reeve was, without a doubt, and in his father’s own words, _courting_ her. 

That’s when Rufus began to watch them a bit closer, noticing more clearly their stolen moments of intimacy. Charlie always clutched at his hand when she got really excited about something or other. He would see Charlie leaning into Reeve’s body almost instinctively, would see them smile at each other from across a table, and he took notice of the small touches he would give her—a touch on the arm, a touch on the small of her back.

To have his own sister, his own responsibility, stolen away from him by someone who had only come into their lives so recently (though, it has been about ten years since their first meeting), had been the greatest insult. Charlie, his greatest and closest friend, the person he loved most, the person who loved _him_ most, taken from him by Reeve Tuesti, the slimy, arrogant, soft-hearted son of a bitch. 

Of course, there had been others, failed romances that never really amounted to anything due to a few quiet threats that were made, and Rufus had been able to send away the SOLDIER that Charlie was always batting her eyelashes at, sending him away within weeks of finding out they were growing attached to each other. 

“More wine?”

“No,” she says. “I have to go home tonight.”

“It will be too late to go home tonight. We have a house here.” Rufus signals for a waiter, snapping his fingers. “Bring us another bottle.”

Charlie looks more than annoyed, but he doesn’t care. She’ll do anything for him, anything he says, especially if he’s buying more wine. “I told you, I’m going home tonight.”

“Why? Reeve can’t sleep without you?”

“If you ever decide to settle down, you might finally realize how nice it is to sleep next to someone.”

“I’ve slept with women before, Charlie.”

He smiles when he catches sight of his sister’s expression. A little bit of anger, a little bit of jealousy, a little bit of irritation. The same way _he_ might look at her if their roles were reversed. “I hardly think those whores you’ve paraded around with can be considered _women_.”

This makes Rufus smile wider. As long as he can remember, Charlie has always had some vendetta against the women in his life, and women in general. True, their father had perpetuated the idea that she was, as a girl, as a woman, lesser than her male peers—lesser than Rufus, lesser than President Shinra himself. 

Rufus doesn’t quite see it that way. Charlie is more than capable, having beaten out many of her male peers in both her education and career field, certainly earning the title of ‘genius’ without any advanced opportunities due to her being a woman. 

“Are you jealous?”

“Why should I be? Because you choose to shower those girls with affection instead of me?”

No, he thinks. Affection is always saved for Charlie, always saved for his sister. 

“There’s nothing you can give me that Reeve can’t.”

Scowling, Rufus feels his chest fill with fiery rage at the sight of Charlie’s insolent little smirk. She knows that she’s touched a nerve, knows that she’s made him angry. “He can’t make you vice president when I finally become president.”

“Oh? Does the position come with terms, now?”

“You’re being a brat, Char.”

Charlie sticks her tongue out at him. It’s all just a game to her. 

“You can’t fool me. I know that it’s the pilot you want to marry. You wouldn’t be going to Rocket Town if he wasn’t there.”

This makes her falter. He can see it in her eyes. Something flickers in her expression. “That was over four years ago,” she finally answers in a voice that’s soft as the sea breeze. “Four years is a long time, Rufus, and I’m going to marry Reeve.”

He pours his sister another glass of wine, and she doesn’t protest, one leg crossed over her knee, leaning back in her seat so casually, her blouse unbuttoned to show off the massive diamond necklace around her neck—not the one _he_ had bought for her, but the one Reeve had bought for her.

“Let’s enjoy ourselves tonight,” he suggests, refilling his own glass. “You deserve it, especially after your performance today.”

Charlie picks up her glass, tracing her teeth with her tongue. “Fine.”

Rufus toasts her. He always gets what he wants in the end. 


	8. Chapter 8

“You, uh . . . go through assistants pretty quick, don’t you?”

Reeve glances at the now empty desk outside of his office, closing the door and locking it with a swipe of his keycard. “I just hired another one tonight,” he says to the Turk, and while it’s only Reno, his presence still makes him wary. 

“Oh? Pretty little thing?”

“The very opposite.”

For some reason, this makes Reno laugh. “Charlie’s just as jealous as her brother, isn’t she?”

Reeve frowns, but can’t argue against it. “Speaking of Charlie, shouldn’t you be off keeping a close eye on her?”

The Turk hardly looks abashed. “Oh, she told you about that, huh?”

With an impatient nod, Reeve tries to leave the relatively open corridor that leads to the elevators, but Reno seems intent on following him, seemingly at ease with himself and the world.

“You’re not exactly the most covert person in the world,” Reeve grimaces, making Reno smile in earnest while offering a casual shrug in return. “If you really wanted to follow her without being noticed, it might do you some good to make an effort to fit in.”

“Maybe I wanted her to notice me.” Reno side-steps him, staying in front, blocking Reeve’s way to the elevator. “A cat wouldn’t go noticed though, would it?”

Reeve stops abruptly, blinking at the Turk. It feels as if the very words send a jolt through his system, and he wishes he had left just ten minutes earlier. He might already be in bed by now, and Charlie might be there already, as well, sleeping off the long flight to Costa del Sol and back, smelling slightly of wine. 

“Look, just need you to take that thing down into the Sector Seven slums and do some . . . scouting, y’know?” Reno continues pleasantly, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal much of his pale chest, an invitation to those who don’t know any better. “You don’t really mind, do you? Isn’t your latest project down there anyway? It’ll give you a chance to get a closer look.”

Clearing his throat, Reeve shakes his head. “I don’t do that anymore, Reno. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be getting home.”

Comprehension dawns on Reno’s face. Reeve curses silently to himself; he hadn’t expected Reno to catch on so easily. It’s too easy to underestimate Reno, but he supposes that’s all part of the gimmick. “She doesn’t know, does she?” he asks with wide eyes, the grin never leaving his face. “Come on, man, you haven’t even told your own girl?”

“No, and I don’t intend for her to find out—”

“—that you go around spying for Shinra?”

“That I _used_ to go around spying for Shinra.”

“Same difference to her, isn’t it?” Reno mutters, and the Turk at least moves aside, walking alongside Reeve towards the glass elevator. 

He’s absolutely right. Charlie wouldn’t see a difference. 

Reeve rather wishes he could make it to the lobby alone, without having to listen to Reno make passive threats (the thought of Charlie finding out about his involvement with the Turks and with Shinra’s dirtier history makes his heart leap in his throat), but he doesn’t actually believe Reno would ever say anything. 

Besides, Charlie usually claims to hate Reno, for reasons that are unclear to even himself (though she doesn’t really hate him all the time, only when he’s getting in her way), and surely she wouldn’t take anything the Turk said about him at face value, _especially_ when it concerned the man she was supposed to marry. 

“Hey, I get it,” Reno says again as they step together into the elevator. The very sound of his voice is grating, and Reeve rubs his throbbing temples with his thumbs, wishing again that he was home. “Missus finds out that you’re a filthy spy for the company she claims to hate so much, and then she wants nothing to do with you anymore. And Charlie’s the best you’re _ever_ gonna get, ain’t she?”

“It’s complicated,” Reeve lies, knowing that Reno has just about hit the nail on the head. “Look, I haven’t used him in a long time, and I’m not about to bring him out of storage and dust him off just because you asked relatively nicely.”

“Don’t lie to me, man, and don’t act so high and mighty. Gods, you’re all the same, you top execs. I know you were using that _thing_ shortly before you got engaged to Charlie.” Reno’s smarmy little face looks almost eager for a good punching, but the elevator comes to a rest and the doors open, letting them out on the fifty-ninth floor. “You never did tell us exactly how that happened.”

“Nor will I.”

Of course he and Charlie had made up some romantic story that involved him stuffing her full of expensive food and champagne and him getting down on one knee to propose, but the reality had been very different. 

He _had_ intended to do things the proper way, truthfully. He had meant to propose to her, with President Shinra’s blessing, on the balcony of Charlie’s favorite restaurant in Sector Eight, but the question had slipped out of him one day early while they were rolling around in bed together. 

It had been his most embarrassing moment, said on a whim as her lips touched places no one else’s had ever gone near, and he’s sure his face had been bright red in the seconds that followed. But Charlie had laughed, smiled, smothered him with kisses and accepted his whispered proposal breathily while claiming he was the most romantic man she’d ever known. 

That part he had believed. None of the men in her life have ever been very romantic—her brother, the pilot, her father. 

“What are you expecting to find in Sector Seven?” Reeve asks, out of sheer curiosity as they enter another elevator to take them down to the lobby. It’s already dark outside, but the stars are nearly invisible through all the smog. Charlie hates that, he knows. 

“Word has it that Avalanche is hiding out somewhere down there. Have you heard?” Reno leans against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms over his partially-exposed chest. “And, like you said, we Turks don’t fit in well. That’s why we need someone a little . . . smaller. A little more covert. If a Turk just wandered down there and started asking questions . . . might seem a little suspect, y’know?”

“Ask someone else, then,” Reeve says in a low voice. “I have no interest in helping you.”

“Ain’t Charlie going away to Rocket Town for a few days?”

He doesn’t even bother asking how Reno knows that. He has to assume that’s Rufus’s doing. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to resort back to espionage while she’s gone.”

“Yeah? And what if I told you, the last time she went to Rocket Town, she met up with that pilot of hers?”

Reeve feels his heart stop. Charlie, returning to Rocket Town to see that horribly crass, upjumped pilot? He hadn’t even considered, for a moment, that Cid Highwind might still live there after all that had transpired, and he hadn’t even considered that there might be some ulterior motive to Charlie’s going away.

No, he tells himself. Charlie wouldn’t do that. Charlie loves him, and Reeve knows it. His flighty, impulsive, passionate, capricious Charlie, always expressing her vehement dislike of the city, always daydreaming of her rocket and of space and the sky, always eager for adventure, for a thrill, something to excite her. 

Was this what Rufus had in mind? Reeve doesn’t want to think badly of his future brother-in-law, but it’s extremely hard not to. If Rufus wanted to meddle in his sister’s relationship (not for the first time), wouldn’t pushing her into the arms of some long lost love be the perfect way to do so? A love that would never last, that could never come to fruition, a love that would hurt her in the end and force her back into Rufus’s own arms. 

Even four years ago, Charlie had known that there was no future with Cid for her. It was the only thing that kept Reeve from beating the bastard bloody at times. 

She had come to him inexperienced, eager to please, eager for something to heal the break in her heart. If Cid had touched her, Reeve would have known. 

Reno hums, only half-apologetic. “Looks like Charlie’s keeping some secrets of her own, yeah?”

Reeve shakes his head, trying very hard not to look troubled by this surprising information. 

As the elevator slows down, reaching the lobby level, he turns to Reno. “Stay away from Charlie,” he snaps. “And stay the hell away from me.”

Reno scoffs. “And here I thought you’d be grateful!” 

Charlie is fast asleep when he slips into the bedroom, still fumbling out of his clothes. His suit jacket slips off his shoulders to fall quietly to the floor, and his tie soon follows, as well as his belt, which lands heavily on the carpet, but doesn’t cause her to stir. Cat sleeps curled up between her legs, tail swishing slowly from side to side, but when Reeve reaches over to scratch his head, he jumps off the bed and leaves him alone with Charlie. 

She’s facing him with her back to the wide window, her hair fanned out on the pillow, wavy and tangled at the ends, long eyelashes dark against her milky skin, lips slightly parted (the Shinra look, indeed). The moonlight streaming through the bedroom windows makes her skin look white as snow (how long has it been since he’s actually seen snow?), her hair silver. 

The blanket doesn’t quite cover her bare chest, which expands and contracts gently with each soft breath. Her skin is so soft and unblemished, porcelain, marble. 

She is exquisite, and would be wasted on someone like Cid.

On a whim, looking at her body so illuminated, lit by the glow of the generous moon, Reeve quietly opens the top drawer of the nearest dresser, looking for paper, a pencil, a pencil, a pencil—

He sits gently on the bed, as close to her as he can without waking her. For a few minutes, the only sounds that are audible are the soft scratching of his pencil against the paper and her even softer breathing. 

He must have hundreds of these little drawings hidden and stashed around their apartment, little drawings of her on scrap paper and lined notebook paper, on napkins and on the thin parchment he likes to sketch his drafts on, most of them half-finished, especially the ones where she had been sleeping. 

The first time he had drawn her had been on her twentieth birthday, and the picture still hangs framed on the wall of her home office. He had promised to take her out for a nice dinner, but a series of important and impromptu meetings had held him up, and Charlie had swaggered into his office nearly two hours after he had agreed to pick her up, wearing a dress so lovely that he hardly registered the angry words that she had thrown at him. 

“You think, just because you work in some fancy new office now, you can stand me up?”

She had looked so pretty in all of her rage, her cheeks pink and her eyes blazing, and once he apologized profusely and explained the situation, he had been able to calm her and she had been very happy to eat takeout in his office as he drew up plans for repairs to a collapsing part of the plate. 

“Why’d you become an architect, anyway?” she had asked him, looking over his shoulder and down at his work. 

It had been so long since someone had asked him that. “Because I liked to draw.”

“Can you draw me? Or do you mainly stick to straight lines and buildings?” 

“What?” Reeve still remembers the smile she had given him. She had been serious, and incredibly excited about the prospect. “Well, I suppose . . . sit down, then.”

Charlie had been the perfect little model, posed perfectly upon the sofa, her eyes never leaving him. It had been the first time he touched her so intimately, fingertips underneath her chin to gently lift her face, placing her hands just right and brushing a thumb over her knuckles just to see what it might feel like, tucking her hair behind her ears, adjusting the fabric of her dress, fixing her necklace. 

And all the while, Charlie watching him, hardly blinking, never flinching at his touch. 

Every time he had looked up from his paper, it had been to find her looking at him, smiling impishly. She was unabashed, confident, and so, so beautiful.

And after a while, she had come out with it and asked, “How come you don’t have a girlfriend or something, a smart guy like you?”

She could be so exasperating sometimes, what with her childish innocence combined with her spoiled upbringing, feeling free to speak her mind in a rather brash way, almost arrogant. She wasn’t afraid of him, and she wasn’t afraid of needling him. 

“Who says I don’t already have one?” 

“Does your girlfriend know you were supposed to take me out tonight? Or that you bought me diamond earrings?”

It had made him laugh, how quickly she called his bluff, how sweetly and innocently and teasingly she had smiled. He had been just as much to blame for spoiling her as her brother and father. 

“Do you draw every girl you go on a date with?”

“Only when it’s their birthday.” 

“Have you ever been in love before?”

“Have you always asked so many questions?” But she had wanted to know, and he owed her for missing such an important dinner. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? I think you’d know if you’d been in love before,” she had said, this girl who was so naive and so sweet, who had never known real love before from someone who wasn’t related to her. 

It had taken him nearly ten times to properly sketch her nose. “What do you think love feels like?”

She had thought for a moment, still as a statue. “Maybe . . . feeling like you want to be around someone all the time.”

Reeve had been too afraid of confessing to the president’s daughter that he wouldn’t mind being around her all the time. All he could think to say was, “Maybe.”

Charlie still claims that’s the night she really knew she loved him, but part of him believes she only says that to make him feel less guilty about standing her up. 

As he pushes a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, she hums very quietly, keeping her eyes closed, knowing better than to move while she hears his pencil hard at work. “Do I look that beautiful?”

He stops for a moment, letting his eyes wash over her figure for a moment, or what the blanket reveals of her (gentle slope of her hips, the curve of her exposed breast, the collar bone protruding against her skin), his hand hesitating above the paper. 

“Yes,” he whispers, almost forgetting about what he and Reno had spoken of not long ago. “Stay still, my love.”

Charlie opens her eyes, smiling stiffly at him, but obliging his request. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight,” Reeve murmurs, lowering his eyes back down to the paper, rounding off the place on the paper where the crook of her neck is. “When did you get back?”

“About an hour and a half ago,” she whispers slowly. “I almost thought Rufus wasn’t going to let me go this time.”

Of course, he thinks, her first coherent sentence is about Rufus. 

“Lift your chin for me,” he commands her gently, to which she obliges him again. Once his eyes sweep over her again, glancing at the hand on the mattress to examine the elegant tapering of her wrist, he falters. “Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” he asks quickly, and the strain in his voice is evident. He isn’t quite sure why this little detail makes him panic, but she seems to be amused by whatever is troubling him, a small little smile forming on her face. “Charlotte, what have you done with your ring?”

“Am I allowed to move?”

Reeve looks down at his sketch, a lightly drawn and crude-looking body, the outline of a blanket bunched up around her waist. 

“Yes,” he tells her, setting his paper and pencil on the nightstand, resolving to finish the next one, no matter how beautiful she looks. 

Charlie rolls onto her back to reach the nightstand, opening the drawer. From within, she pulls out her engagement ring and holds it up in his face, still smiling at him. He softens upon looking at the sparkling ring held between her slender thumb and forefinger.

“I never sleep with my ring on. Not after it scratched me that first night,” she smiles, kissing his cheek before putting her ring back. “You know that.”

He _does_ know that (how had he forgotten?). She had scratched herself in the face the first night she had worn it, and her pretty little cheek had been bright pink the next morning. After that, Charlie never slept with her ring, not even when she had been drinking. 

Charlie’s smile fades, her eyebrows slowly coming together in concern. “What are you getting so worked up for? Are you all right?”

“I—” He hesitates, touching her face and sighing, propping himself onto an elbow to hover over her. He allows his fingertips to skate over the smooth skin of her stomach, and Charlie pushes his hair out of his face. “Why didn’t you tell me about the pilot? Why didn’t you tell me you met with him?”

“Met with him?” Charlie sits up against the headboard, her smile growing. His heart gives a painful twinge. “I went into the rocket, and he happened to find me there a little while later.” She kisses Reeve softly upon the face, every inch of skin she can before continuing. “We spoke for about three minutes total, and you do remember that he hates me, don’t you?”

“Does he?”

It takes her a moment to answer. “I took everything from him,” she replies. “And if it makes you feel better, he’s living with the woman who took everything away from _me_.”

He’s never been particularly good at catching her in a lie. She has not a single tell that he’s aware of, but Rufus could probably sniff out a lie a million miles away. Perhaps it has something to do with her career—she is, in the most basic sense, a professional liar. She has to sell those lies to the people of Midgar, and she does it damn well, to her credit. 

“Look at me,” Charlie breathes, waiting for his eyes to settle back on her face again, having been completely lost in thought. “It’s been _four_ years.”

Reeve clenches his jaw, looking down at her. “I fired my assistant for you—”

“She was interested in you.”

“All right, fine,” he admits begrudgingly. “Yes, perhaps she was interested in me—” Charlie’s nostrils flare; the wretched woman had hardly set her things on that desk before she was batting those uneven lashes at him, smiling with slightly crooked teeth—“but you laugh when I show concern about your trip to Rocket Town.”

“Rocket Town is the best place to see the stars. I’ve told you that before,” she explains patiently. “I plan on working this next week, you know. It’s not all a vacation.”

“Well, what’s wrong with Kalm? Or Junon?”

Charlie giggles. “My rocket isn’t at Kalm or Junon.” She kisses him again, and this time, he responds slightly more eagerly. “If you want so badly to come with me, then come, but you’ll be bored.”

Her offer makes him feel slightly better, but certainly no less guilty. He almost considers telling the truth now, before Reno has the chance to fill her in, but Reeve can’t quite determine how best to explain his situation. Not only will he run the risk of igniting the fury and resentment she so often feels towards her father’s company (though, if she were next in line for the presidency, he feels she would resent Shinra Electric Power Company far less), but his flighty little Charlotte might not come back from Rocket a Town for _weeks_ if she left immediately after hearing his confession. 

“No,” he says. He doesn’t have the time to take a vacation to Rocket Town. “Just promise that you’ll call me.”

Charlie wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. Her skin smells of wine and ocean salt, and her hair smells like flowers. “Of course I will.”

He believes her, and he loves her, and the only thing he can think about is the way her soft lips feel pressed against his own, the way the silky skin of her throat feels beneath his fingertips, the way her pulse beats against his index finger, fast, faster, faster, warm and soft and _his_ as he slides into her. 

“Please don’t leave,” she whispers to him, almost whining, pleading, in a voice that’s most unlike her, and her cheeks feel wet when he kisses them, “please don’t leave me.”

“Never, Charlotte,” he promises her, “never.”

* * *

Charlie slips out of bed just as dawn is breaking, wanting to get a head start on her journey to Rocket Town. 

As he sleeps, one well-muscled arm is still underneath her pillow, his free hand resting against his chest. She smiles down at him, picking up the picture he had begun last night, the rough sketch of her. He hadn’t filled in her face at all, but there’s a fair amount of detail at her hands and neck, one of her breasts drawn nearly to completion (though that’s her own assessment—Reeve might feel the need to fix it fifty more times before he considers it finished). 

The first night he had drawn her (ignoring the stack of work piling up on his desk to make up for the fact that he had stood her up), Charlie had examined his face for hours, watching the way his eyes swept over her, flicking between the paper and her face and body, the way his wrist moved and flexed with each stroke of his pencil, the way his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. 

By the time she’s ready to leave, Reeve is still fast asleep, but she kisses his forehead before leaving. “I love you,” she tells him, but she has to give him a slight shake to get him to stir so she can say good-bye. 

With all of her things already packed up on the plane she plans to fly to Rocket Town, Charlie heads to the hangar straight away, Headquarters still relatively empty save for some custodians and a few bleary-eyes receptionists opening for the day (one of them being Reeve’s replaced assistant, who shoots Charlie a cool look). 

The hangar is seemingly empty at first glance, too, but when she approaches the plane, she’s startled at the presence of someone sitting in the cockpit. 

“Father,” she says, looking up through the open door. “What are you doing here so early?”

President Shinra gestures for his daughter to join him in the cockpit. She does, glad that he’s forgone his cigar this time. “What’s all this about a trip to Rocket Town, Char?” he asks exasperatedly, heaving a deep sigh. 

Charlie leans back against the seat, staring out the windshield. “I thought I might do some research. Reeve bought me a brand new telescope, and I haven’t been able to properly try it out yet.”

Her father hums in a rather amused sort of way. “Smart boy.”

She can’t help but smile weakly at President Shinra’s sharp profile. “Yes, he is.”

“I hope Cid Highwind’s presence in Rocket Town has had no influence on your recent decision to travel.”

Just as quickly as it had come on, her smile disappears. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about my rocket,” she confesses, too tired to have some passive aggressive conversation with her father. She doesn’t want to push his apparently good mood. 

Her father turns to face her, looking out of place within the cockpit of an airplane. “You think I don’t understand,” he says plainly. “You think I’ve always been serious, that I’ve never known anything other than ambition. Is that it?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, afraid of giving a wrong answer. All she can do is look at him, wondering what he might have been like as a young man around her age, or Rufus’s age, wondering what their mother had seen in him, if he was handsome and smart or if he was able to make her laugh. It’s hard to picture her father as a young man, though, partially because the image of him as a stern, serious, and ruthless president is burned into her brain. 

And then, perhaps the most surprising thing of all, President Shinra smiles. “You don’t believe me,” he chortles, making Charlie smile weakly, as well. It’s all going too well, just like she’s imagined for so long. “Fair enough.” His eyes scan her features, as if trying to pick out which ones belong to him. “Your pilot, Char . . . he’s fun, he’s exciting, and in a few months, his inability to grow up and become a professional will be a blot, a _curse_ , on your very existence.”

She looks away from him. It’s equal parts irritating and astonishing that her father knows her far better than she thinks. 

“Your mother was fun and exciting,” he finishes. “But your mother refused to grow up. She was incapable of running the company at my side, incapable of following orders, unwilling to be the shining beacon that you are becoming.” His voice is softer, but no less intimidating when he adds, “I will not let you make the same mistake that I did. You haven’t forgotten what that pilot did to you?”

She feels tears spring to her eyes, and not because of her rocket. The memories she has of her mother are still painful, and she remembers night after night listening to her parents argue, screaming matches, and she would sneak into Rufus’s bed tearfully, hiding underneath the heavy blanket with him, and their mother would carry her back to bed long after Charlie fell asleep.

“You have a good boy, Charlotte, who has high hopes of marrying you without any expectations of running the company or inheriting whatever fortune I will leave for you. A good boy who does good work for the company. Loyal and charming and wealthy and educated. All of the things your pilot is not. You’re better than that, and you’ve proven it these past four years.” His fat fingers hover over the many switches and buttons in the cockpit, not committing to pressing any of them, even though the plane is off. “Any child by the two of you will be a genius, no doubt, and certainly fit to inherit the company when the time comes.”

“Papa,” she whispers, wanting to reach out and see what it feels like to have a father touch their daughter affectionately, lovingly, to wrap thick arms around her and hug her. On a whim, Charlie reaches out to touch his hand, to cover it lightly with her own, and he doesn’t pull away, letting her hand stay there for a few seconds. 

“Are you passing information to Avalanche?”

With her hand still touching her father’s, she looks him in the eyes. “No,” she lies. 

“Is it your damn fool brother?”

“I don’t know.”

And then, President Shinra clears his throat, putting an end to the conversation and shifting towards the open door of the cockpit, pulling his hand away from his daughter’s. “Now, I want you to go and see that you’ve missed out on nothing these past four years, and when you return, we’ll talk about this wedding of yours. I already told Reeve I would pay for the entirety of it, no matter the cost.”

He steps out of the airplane, and Charlie slides over to the side where he was sitting, watching him brush himself off. 

“And when you finally marry,” he says, adjusting his suit and checking his watch, “we’ll talk about making you vice president.”

The thought makes her heart leap up into her throat, choking her, but she knows better than to take her father at his word. Her hands tremble as she starts the plane, slipping a headset over her head to command someone to open the hangar doors, to chart her course. 

With the minimal security around Headquarters so early in the morning, it takes a little longer than she’d like, but she has an entire week to spend in Rocket Town, so she’s able to douse the rage that threatens to burn within her.

Truthfully, to be vice president would be sweet, and to be president after her father would be even sweeter. It’s what she’s secretly wanted ever since it was clear Rufus was the one being groomed for it.

But to live a life so constricted . . . so boring and so dull. If her father had been telling the truth, his command over his company has sucked all the fun and life and laughter from him, and Charlie can’t quite imagine a life without any of those things. 

She’s long abandoned whatever pipe dream about space she harbored, knowing that President Shinra will not be so foolish as to get her involved with another launch. But if _she_ were president, she could do whatever she wanted, fund whatever she wanted, and no one could tell her otherwise. She could fire all the people she hates and rehire people who are good, people like Reeve, people who aren’t greedy, malicious puppets. 

As the hangar doors buzz, beginning their slow opening, Charlie reaches into her canvas bag tossed on the other side of the seat, digging around for her phone. Quickly dialing the number from memory (the same number for ten years), she holds the phone up to her ear, listening to it ring several times before—

“ _Charlotte?_ ” 

At the sound of Reeve’s voice, she can feel the lump form in her throat, constricting her speech. “Oh,” she sighs, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

He laughs from the other end, tired laughter. “ _What should I say?_ ”

Charlie smiles, dragging a hand down her face. “Just tell me you love me,” she says, “and tell me how much time is left until I’m not a Shinra anymore.”

“ _I love you,_ ” he replies immediately, “ _and it’s five and a half months until you’re no longer a Shinra._ ” When she doesn’t answer right away, he asks, “ _Are you all right?_ ”

“I’m fine, now.” She’s temporarily blinded by the sunlight that streams in through the hangar doors. “Call me when you get out of your lunch meeting. I should already be in Rocket Town by then.”

“ _Of course. Get going then, before you change your mind._ ”

“I love you,” she tells him quickly, feeling as if a week is a very long time. They’ve been apart for longer, but it had never seemed so daunting before. “I’ll see you next week, all right? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“ _There’s nothing that you wouldn’t do,_ ” he says teasingly. “ _I love you, too._ ”

The moment the plane takes off from the smooth runway, Charlie feels adrenaline coursing through her, hands glued to the yoke as she climbs higher and higher. It’s a perfect day once she clears the Midgar area, the sky turning a bit bluer, the clouds disappearing, untroubled by much headwind.

She hardly ever has the chance to fly by herself. Reeve claims that flying in a tiny airplane makes him nauseous (she doesn’t blame him for it; the same thing had made her sick at first, before she had done it a hundred times), and Rufus only flies when he absolutely has to. Usually, when she does have to travel, another pilot is brought along to take over. 

She listens quietly to the chatter from Midgar’s control tower, speaking only when necessary to confirm she’s on route, to confirm she’s cruising at the proper altitude, high above the mountaintops. 

Glancing over her shoulder, Charlie makes sure her things are still tucked away in the back of the plane. She had packed up her telescope, celestial charts, research notes, her personal computer, everything that she would need to conduct proper research for the first time in . . . how long has it been?

_Years,_ she thinks. Reeve had only bought her the telescope after she’d returned home from Costa del Sol, a few days after the scene they had caused at the Gold Saucer. He had meant it as an apology, and it had been such a sweet and welcome one, especially when paired with the kisses and murmured words of affection he had given her that same night, too. 

And once she exhausts herself with thoughts of the man she’d left behind in her bed ( _their_ bed now), her mind grasps at images of her father, and her hand covering his, and the way he had spoken of her mother. 

Charlie knows that sentiment is not something that President Shinra treasures, but she knows that she may have just witnessed the closest thing to sentiment he’s ever shown. She doesn’t think she should be all that surprised. Her parents had been married for over ten years before splitting, and her father surely loved her mother at least for a little while. 

She wonders if she dares ask about her mother more, now that her father has mentioned her twice so close together. Maybe he knows where she is in the world, and then Charlie can go track her down to ask her questions. 

Rufus thinks she’s dead. He’s told Charlie so probably fifty times since their mother left Midgar, but Charlie doesn’t quite believe it. Their mother had been smart and resourceful and strong-willed, and a woman like that doesn’t just die a slum drunk in some gutter like Rufus claims. 

She’s able to take the headset off once her plane reaches the ocean, unable to be reached by anyone from Midgar, and it’s afternoon by the time she reaches Rocket Town and finds a field to land her plane in. It’s a rough and bumpy landing, but there’s a reason she didn’t pilot a massive thing all the way here, and she didn’t want to draw anymore attention than necessary. The less people who know that she’s here, the better.

The moment she steps off the plane, the first thing she sees is the distant silhouette of her rocket, looming over the rooftops and treeline, right in Cid’s backyard. 

The air smells fresh, crisp, lacking the sulfuric smell of mako, and the sky isn’t choked with gray smog and man-made clouds. The grass is green, turning brown with the changing of the seasons, but it’s a natural brown, a natural change compared to the dry and barren wasteland that surrounds Midgar. 

For a moment, she wonders what Reeve might say if she suggested they move away from the city after getting married. He would balk, she knows, and deep in her heart, she would miss the city too much. Their entire lives are there, their work and their families and their home. 

Cat would like it here, at least. He might like some space of his own to spend time basking in the warm sunshine. But Cat’s preference won’t have much of an influence on Reeve’s decision. 

As she makes for Rocket Town with plans to rent a truck in order to drive her things back to town as opposed to dragging them, Charlie is resigned to one simple fact that weighs heavy on her heart. 

She’ll never leave Midgar, and if she’s unlucky, she’ll die there, too. 


	9. Chapter 9

The first two days are perfect.

She’s able to rent a truck from a friend of the innkeeper’s, who’s also able to show her a level and relatively private place that would work for her research. Most of the trees there had been cut down to build the town, leaving stumps as sentries and an unkempt field full of dying wildflowers and chocobo prints. 

She camps out in that field by a roaring fire for one night, never lacking for kindling or logs, surrounded by all of her equipment and technology and handwritten notes, taking hourly photographs of the sky and documenting changes, charting the stars and their slight movements over the course of twenty-four hours. When she calls Reeve at night, he calls her crazy for wanting to sleep in nothing but a sleeping bag, but seems most concerned about someone or some _thing_ springing from the shadows to hurt her. 

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, “I have a gun.”

“ _That only makes me worry more._ ”

The majority of her second day is spent the same way, nourishing herself with an apple, a bag of chips, a banana, and then some pastries that had looked especially tasty in the window of a bakery next to the inn.

Time eludes her, the sun rising and falling without her noticing. She spends hours in silence, consumed and lost in her research, the very opening of her files igniting a passion in her that she hasn’t felt in so long, and standing behind her always is the rocket. When she takes the time to eat or sit down by her fire to rest her eyes, Charlie always finds herself looking up at it, considering all the ways that it could have been better.

“ _Have you discovered a new star yet?_ ” Reeve asks her that night, her phone held between her shoulder and her ear as she looks through her telescope. 

“No, but I plan to,” Charlie says. “There has to be at least one out here that no one’s seen before. I’ll name it after you.”

“ _I have complete faith in you. And if you must know, Cat misses you very much and wonders if you have any desire to come home early._ ”

“Is that so?” she asks, pulling away from the telescope and smiling to herself. 

“ _He says the bed is too cold at night without you._ ”

Charlie hums. “That certainly sounds like something Cat would say.”

Late into the night, long after Charlie finally curls up in her sleeping bag with several layers of clothes and blankets keeping her warm next to a smoldering fire, she wakes to the first few cold drops of rain on her face, sending her into a frenzy as she packs up all of her things into the back of the truck as quickly as possible, hoping the rain doesn’t damage any of her things. 

She’s soaking wet by the time she returns to the inn, her things left in the covered bed of the truck, and the rain doesn’t let up again throughout the following day. 

* * *

“Did you hear? Charlotte Shinra is staying at the inn.”

The information startles him so badly that he attempts to sit up, if only to give Oster a withering glare, but he cracks his forehead against the bottom of the countertop, swearing loudly as he settles back down on his back, tools scattered amongst him as he fucks around with the shoddy wiring job that lights the display case of the souvenir shop.

“You’re losin’ it,” Cid grunts. 

Ever since Oster met with Charlotte about the rocket for a few minutes, it’s all he seems able to talk about. He rambles about how kind she is, how pretty she is, how sensible she is, how modest she is, how patient and just. 

Even Cid can’t deny that she’s pretty, but the other things he isn’t so sure about. Everyone who meets her seems to describe her differently, making her out to be some sort of mysterious enigma with no one knowing the _real_ Charlotte Shinra.

The rain continues to beat against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder from far off audible, ominous. Even in the late afternoon, the souvenir shop should be brightened by sunlight, but today it’s gloomy and dark, black storm clouds overhead with not a blue sliver of sky to be seen.

It’s the perfect day to get all the repairs done he had promised to do weeks ago, and at least they’re still paying him for doing them late. It makes him feel slightly guilty, but it’s not like anyone else is willing to do all this work for so cheap. 

“Did you hear she’s getting married?”

“Yeah,” Cid grunts again from the floor. “Everyone and their fuckin’ mother has heard she’s gettin’ married.”

“Have you ever met him before? The guy she’s gonna marry?”

Cid sighs, prepared to kick Oster’s shin just to make himself feel better. “Yeah, I’ve met the slimy fuckin’ goon,” he almost says, but he settles instead with, “Yeah, a few times.”

As if he would ever forget the damn bastard. He was always hanging around during her stint as operations’ manager during construction of the Highwind, always talking business jargon to Charlie and impressing her with that stupid fucking brain of his, always making her smile and laugh, always bringing her lunch or taking her out with the millions and millions of fucking gil he probably made off her father’s company. 

“What’s he like?” Oster asks, and the innocent curiosity in his voice doesn’t amuse Cid in the slightest. 

“He’s a fuckin’ Shinra suit. What do you think he’s like?” Cid snaps. “Are you gonna shut up now so I can fix your goddamn display case in peace?”

Oster is hardly fazed by Cid’s demeanor. Nearly everyone in Rocket Town knows that Charlotte Shinra is a sore subject for him, though it doesn’t seem to stop anyone from fucking needling him about her. “You should go see her, Cid,” Oster suggests, bending down to look at him beneath the counter. “Bet she’d be pleased. She must have come for the rocket.”

Cid rolls his eyes, ready to throw his wire cutters right between Oster’s eyes. “Listen, you little punk,” he growls, not taking his eyes off the wiring above his face, “I think I’d know if Charlotte fuckin’ Shinra was—”

The jingling of bells above the front door quiets him, giving him a few moments of peace. The sound of pouring rain against the brick sidewalk outside reverberates within the tiny shop, and light footsteps wander around the store for a minute or so. Oster kicks his foot, but Cid bites his tongue, tactful enough to wait until the customer is gone before exploding on him. 

“Hi, Oster,” comes a voice that’s so familiar to him that his entire body tenses, like some kind of frightened animal who knows they’re about to be shot. “Do you sell umbrellas?”

“Forget to pack one, ma’am?”

“It doesn’t rain much in Midgar,” she says with a soft laugh. “But I need more than an umbrella.” She coughs weakly, like she’s catching a cold. Cid closes his eyes, afraid to stand up, afraid to move, afraid that she’ll see him. “I promised some kids at an orphanage that I would bring them back something special, and I thought you might have something they’d like.”

Cid almost scoffs noisily. Like Charlie would be caught dead hanging around some dirty orphanage in the slums of her own accord, buying them gifts and presents to show off her wealth to some of the poorest people in her father’s city. It all has to be some publicity stunt, for Shinra newspapers to plaster her good deeds all over the front pages. 

“I might have a few things. What do they like?” Oster asks, kicking Cid’s foot again. This time, Cid kicks back and Oster has to pretend to clear his throat so as to not draw so much attention to what’s below the display case. 

He can tell she’s smiling just by her voice. “They love model airplanes,” she replies. “I usually build them myself. You should have seen the last one I made for them,” she continues, and Cid closes his eyes again, trying to picture her smiling face. “I modeled it after the Tiny Bronco.”

Cid’s heart does something funny. 

“Don’t tell Cid, would you?” she adds. “I don’t want him to think I have designs on his greatest treasure.”

He remains hidden during the entirety of Charlie’s visit, hating himself for it, hating himself for not being brave enough to stand up and say _surprise! i was here the whole time!_ , for not being brave enough to look some kid in the face and say _hi hello i’m not spying on you and you look prettier than ever and i still wish you weren’t gonna marry that jackass_. 

“What brings you to Rocket Town, anyway?” Oster asks her again as she pays for the model rockets she’s buying for the children to piece together (all of them modeled after Shinra No. 26, Cid knows). “You here to work on the rocket?”

“I was doing some research, actually, and plotting a star map,” Charlie tells him brightly. “But I hadn’t anticipated it raining so much, so it’s put a hold on any research I thought I was going to do today.”

Cid kicks Oster discreetly again, mouthing _ask her how long_ as clearly as he can. 

Oster takes the hint. “How long are you gonna be in town for, ma’am?”

“Just for a few more days,” Charlie answers, and Cid can hear her picking up a crumply paper bag. “It was good to see you again, Oster. Thanks for the umbrella.”

“Hey wait!” Cid freezes as Oster calls her back. For a horrible moment, he thinks Oster is going to blow his cover, that he’ll tell Charlie that Cid Highwind has been hiding underneath the display case like the coward he is. “You should come by the bar tonight. You’re pretty popular in this town, you know.”

“Um . . .” Cid bites down so hard on his bottom lip that he begins to draw blood. What he wouldn’t give for a goddamn cigarette, but that would give him away immediately. “We’ll see,” she says apologetically, opening the front door, the bell jingling again. “I have a few calls I have to make tonight, and some work I need to catch up on.”

“Right. Sure, ma’am.”

“By the way,” she adds, and he wonders if he’s been caught. “Did you know the display light is out? I could fix it for you, if you’d like.”

“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m having someone look at it.”

Cid holds his breath until he’s sure Charlie has left the store. The door closes and he exhales loudly, running a hand through his hair. Oster takes a few steps back, leaning against the wall and smiling in a smug way that makes Cid want to hit him. 

Still lying on the floor, dragging a rough hand down his face, Cid asks, “How did she look?”

“Soaking wet,” Oster answers, eyebrows raised as if he’s just walked through paradise. “Tits showing right through her shirt—”

“You damn lecherous bastard—” Cid jumps to his feet, clutching at the fabric of Oster’s shirt and slamming him up against the wall, only letting go when his friend begins to laugh. “Stop fuckin’ around. It ain’t funny.”

“Hear what she said about the Tiny Bronco?” Oster pushes Cid gently away from him, brushing off the front of his shirt. 

“Yeah, I heard.”

The fact that she even took so much interest in his prized little airplane makes him swell with pride. Cid always talked about his Tiny Bronco around her and she had always been eager to listen, but he supposes, after everything, she would have forgotten all his nonsensical chatter. He wishes he could have seen it, her little model airplane, to see how similar the two truly were, to see how much detail she remembered. 

_We’ll see_ , she had said, the same thing she said the night before their failed launch, the night he had taken the president of Shinra Inc.’s daughter out to some empty field and attempted to make clumsy moves on her, nervous as all hell, wishing he would have had the courage to say something sooner. He remembers kissing her, how soft her lips had been, how she had shied away from him afterwards. 

Cid gets back on the ground and finishes his work in silence, thinking to himself as Oster fusses around the shop, fixing displays and switching items out and dusting and sweeping, all while the thunder grows louder, and flashes of lightning brighten the interior every now and then. 

In the days that followed after the launch, after Cid had moved back into his tiny apartment in Junon, he had foolishly believed that Charlotte might call him, if not to apologize, to seek some sort of comfort from him. And after the initial fury and rage and resentment he’d felt directly after aborting the launch had abated into complete apathy, he admits he would have given her comfort if it meant seeing her one more time. 

But she hadn’t come running to him. Charlotte Shinra had left him for dead, ceasing contact with him, severing his ties to the company, and running into the arms of one of her father’s greasy employees. 

And yet . . . she’s here now, in Rocket Town, for “research”, a short while after seeing him for the first time in years. Perhaps it’s coincidence, perhaps Cid is looking too far into it. It’s only because every single goddamn person who is familiar with his history with Charlotte and Shinra Inc. enjoy bringing it up whenever they can, as if his pain and disappointment and humiliation is a great source of entertainment for them. 

At least he knows one thing: he sure as hell won’t be going to the bar tonight.

* * *

Charlie doesn’t have friends—not _real_ friends, anyway.

She has Reeve, her best friend of ten years now, but he’s her fiancé, and Pia is good company, but they’re more business associates, what with her assistant’s convenient ties to certain Avalanche members. Rufus doesn’t really count, being her brother (and Charlie isn’t sure she even _likes_ him all the time, even if she _loves_ him all the time).

There’s a couple that she and Reeve go out to dinner with sometimes, but they’ve been meeting less often ever since President Shinra personally fired some relative of the husband’s (it’s a very long story, and one that Charlie doesn’t fully understand, having only heard the wife’s side of it). 

It’s always been like that. Neither she or Rufus ever played with any other children when they were young, only interacting with each other for the most part, or with their parents or with the Turks that so often watched them. Tutors had been brought into their home to educate both of the Shinra children, and when it became clear that Charlie was far more intelligent than expected, she was sent to a university where everyone seemed fearful of offending or insulting her, so they stayed away. 

Cid had been her first _real_ friend, even after she had met Reeve. 

Cid had never been afraid to speak his mind to her, had never been afraid to tease her, or to tell her crude and dirty jokes, or to talk about their private lives. He hadn’t called her ‘Miss Shinra’ in seriousness after she expressed her discomfort with the name, had neither put her on a pedestal or walked all over her. 

But Cid had seen only ‘Charlie’, only ‘Lottie’. He stayed willfully blind to the other side of her, to ‘Charlotte’, to ‘Miss Shinra’. Having never been a businessman, Cid had been made uncomfortable by some of her decisions that seemed to be made coldly, never understanding that business required a certain amount of dissociation, especially to make decisions without bias. 

Charlie understands, of course. Cid is, and always has been (as far as she is concerned), a man of heart and a man of passion. Cold and calculating and subtle has never been his style, and many of his decisions had been driven by the way he _felt_ about something, a gut instinct, and hardly ever with his head. He was impulsive, rash, reckless, and indecisive, but she thinks that’s what she liked the most about him. 

She knows she’ll have to talk to him eventually. In truth, Charlie does want to go up and look at the rocket again, and maybe do a little tinkering, but that’s wishful thinking, of course. It’s unlikely Cid will want her within a mile of the rocket, probably assuming she’s going to try and steal it. 

As wary as she is of venturing too much into town, fearful that someone will recognize her who isn’t friendly, Charlie can’t help but admit that it feels nice to be asked to do things. It’s not like any of her employees are eager to go out for drinks after work with her, and she doesn’t have any acquaintances outside of work, either. 

Her stomach is growling and the rain still hasn’t let up by the time she calls Reeve, just as the sun is beginning to set. The room she’s rented in the inn is set up more akin to an office, her things scattered about the floor and her work scattered about the desk that’s set before the bay window, overlooking the boundaries of the forest. 

“ _Your father’s cut the budget for my department again._ ”

“Mine, too,” Charlie sighs, reading through her most recent e-mail, meeting minutes from the meeting she wouldn’t have even been invited to in the first place. Several departments have had their budgets slashed (especially Space Exploration, whose budget is now less than eighty percent of what it had been when Charlie was the director, all of the money being diverted to Research and Development and Weapons Development). “I’ve already crunched the numbers. I’m going to have to make some lay-offs when I get back. Some of the speech writers, probably, seeing as anyone can write down what my father dictates.”

“ _How have you had time to do that already?_ ”

“It’s been raining all day here,” she tells him, standing up from her chair to close the curtains, though it hardly does anything to muffle the sound of the rain. “I’ve had nothing else to do. I _did_ go to the souvenir shop, though, and I bought the kids at the orphanage all model rockets.”

“ _They’ll love that. I’m sure the plane you brought them has already crashed into something or someone. Surely you remember our first meeting._ ”

They both laugh softly. None of Charlie’s gifts have ever made it past three weeks. “They’re all modeled off my rocket, of course. My father would be thrilled to see mini Shinra No. 26’s flying around the slums.” The thought makes her sad, wiping the smile off her face. She rubs at the budding tears in her eyes, feeling truly lonely for the first time in a long time. “I wish you were here.”

“ _Are you all right?_ ”

“I don’t know,” she confesses truthfully. Why had she come here? She’s spent four years of her life trying to forget, only to come to the place where it all happened, where her dream had been destroyed before her very eyes, where the evidence of her failure is mocking her from the captain’s backyard. “It’s been over four years now. Why can’t I just move on from what happened?”

“ _Charlie . . ._ ”

“No, I’m sorry, I know, it’s just . . .” Charlie closes her eyes, wanting nothing more in the world than to go home and curl up in bed and wait for Reeve to stumble in late at night, bleary-eyed and irritable from work, to hold her. But she doesn’t want to break so easily, not only three days into the week she said she was going to spend in Rocket Town. “I think I’m just going to get a drink and turn in. I know you’re busy.”

“ _I miss you._ ”

“Oh? Is that a message from Cat?” she asks, smiling weakly. 

“ _No, that one is directly from me this time._ ”

Running a hand through her hair, she gets out of her chair, done with her work, not wanting to do anything more tonight. Through the window on the opposite side of the room, she can clearly see the bright neon lighting of the nearby bar, even through the rain. “I miss you, too.” 

“ _I also have a message for you from my mother._ ” The awkward way this sentence comes out makes it seem as if he’s reluctant even to pass it on. It makes her smile, but she knows that Reeve has always been a bit embarrassed by the way his mother dotes on Charlie. “ _She says she wants to have us for dinner when you get back._ ”

“Why do you sound so glum about it?” she asks, unable to keep from laughing quietly to herself.

“ _You know my mother._ ”

“At least your mother didn’t throw a fit about us living together,” Charlie replies, to which she receives another chuckle in return, a laugh that warms her heart. Unlike President Shinra, Reeve’s mother had been thrilled with this news and had spent the next few weeks wondering (not subtly in the slightest) about a surprise pregnancy, which had caused Reeve to nearly crumble with embarrassment. “At least dinner with your mother won’t consist of backhanded compliments and the unwelcome presence of my father.”

“ _Fair enough, but I’m calling it if she starts showing you all the old pictures of me._ ”

“Oh, Reeve . . .” she teases, clicking her tongue. “I’ve already seen them all. You were a very cute kid, you know.”

He heaves a great sigh, but even just by hearing it, Charlie can tell that he’s still smiling. “ _Damn you, woman._ ”

* * *

He doesn’t really know what possessed him to come here tonight. 

He had told Oster that Shera was driving him absolutely fucking nuts (and she does, she _does_ ), but it wasn’t necessarily true tonight. She wasn’t even doing anything, only watching the television on a low volume while flipping through a magazine with Charlie’s face on the cover that had read: _WOMAN OF THE YEAR: CHARLOTTE SHINRA—HEIRESS, AERONAUTICAL ENGINEER, MIDGAR’S GOLDEN CHILD._

He had laughed in her face upon reading that, upon seeing her labeled as “Midgar’s Golden Child”. He thought it was a load of shit, and he had told Shera so, who had told him to leave her alone after he began to go off about Shinra Inc. 

Four years of complaining about the company that took everything from him, and now Shera’s getting tired of it, too. 

He can’t say he regrets it, however, coming to the bar tonight. It’s not like there was much else to do—the rain has halted his progress on the Tiny Bronco, and being in the rocket during a rainstorm is the perfect recipe for a pounding fucking headache. And if Charlie hasn’t shown up by now, she definitely isn’t going to come, probably too busy ordering people around via the phone or writing up some fucking speech full of threats and lies, a heaping mess of propaganda to make her daddy look good. 

At least the place is relatively empty, so the drinks come quick. 

“Starting bet is ten gil, boys. Pay up.”

Cid throws his ten gil into the center of the table with a grunt, and Vidal deals the cards around to everyone seated. He brings his half-smoked cigarette to his lips, the ash falling onto his lap. Brushing it off carelessly, he checks his cards. 

“Hear that Charlotte Shinra’s in town?” Oster asks the table at large, pushing a few more coins into the growing pile of gil. “She came into the shop today.”

Garret whistles, chuckling to himself as he throws his cards away, palming his eyes. “You guys see that magazine cover she did?” 

Vidal perks up again, passing another card to Cid, Oster, and himself. “Was it the dirty one?” he asks quickly, drawing Cid’s attention. “That girl’s got a million gil body underneath all them fancy clothes.”

“Watch it,” Cid growls, tapping his cards on the tabletop and drinking deep from his tall glass of beer in order to keep his mouth busy. 

“It wasn’t no dirty magazine,” Garret replies with a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing, watching the game continue without him. “Said she's woman of the year or some shit. I dunno, I just bought it ‘cause she looked good on the cover. Looks even better inside the magazine, if you can understand all her fucking engineering jargon.”

“She did a dirty one, too,” Vidal supplies, looking smug and pleased with himself and looking like he has one too many teeth in his mouth for Cid’s liking. “Can’t see nothin’ good, but she looks damn good in them little lace panties, and you’d think her tits were small underneath those outfits she wears, but they’re not as small as you think.”

“Watch what you say in front of the captain,” Oster jokes, folding and grumbling about his loss of money. “He and _Miss Shinra_ have a history.”

“Oh, shit,” Vidal gasps mockingly. “Way to stick it to Shinra, Highwind. Or . . . _in_ Shinra, I should say.”

“I wouldn’t mind sticking it in that Shinra,” Garret continues, shrugging his shoulders and grabbing hold of his cock while his friends laugh. “Bet she’s a real tight-ass. And I bet I could fix that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vidal answers, with a smile that makes Cid want to punch him in the face. “She’s got a pretty little mouth on her, doesn’t she? Cid would know all about that, huh? You break it in for her husband?”

Everyone laughs, except for Cid. He doesn’t find it funny at all. Whatever he says he thinks about Charlie, she used to be good to him, used to be his friend, and hearing his friends talk about “sticking it in” Charlotte Shinra makes his stomach bubble with anger. 

“A professional history, you fuckin’ tool,” Cid says, laying down his cards and scooping up his winnings, much to his friends’ displeasure. He puts his cigarette in the glass ashtray, his leg bouncing impossibly fast beneath the table. “She ain’t nothin’ to me now.”

“Yeah?” Oster raises his eyebrows and Cid feels the back of his neck grow warm and his cheeks flushed. “Is that why you couldn’t even talk to her today?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Cid spits at him. “I ain’t scared of her, if that’s what you mean.”

Oster elbows him in the arm. “Good, ‘cause she’s walking in right now.”

Cid rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

But just after putting in another ten gil to get his cards for the next round, fully prepared to take as much money from his friends as possible, he hears a laugh and a voice that makes him freeze like a chocobo in headlights.

“Where’s the wall that was dedicated to me?”

“Er . . . sorry, ma’am . . . hope you don’t mind . . .”

Her nervous laughter follows. “I was only joking. Please don’t think I’m upset.”

Cid turns in his seat, able to get a clear view of the back of her as she leans against the bar, talking to the bartender, who seems slightly uncomfortable talking to her. 

He feels like it’s the first time he’s seeing her all over again. She’s not wearing any of those fancy clothes tonight, dressed in tight pants and a thick green jacket with a patch on the right sleeve that bears the Shinra logo on it. Her hair looks like spun gold in the flickering yellow lighting of the bar, braided in some complicated way that keeps her hair off the nape of her long neck. 

“Miss Shinra! Over here!” 

“The fuck you doin’?” Cid hisses at Oster, who seems very pleased with himself, raising his hand in the air to wave her down. “She don’t wanna sit with us.”

Charlie turns around quickly, a beer in her left hand and a smile on her face. It’s a practiced one at first (he can tell, of course, having seen her in front of cameras several times before), but at the sight of Cid, she falters, only slightly. Within seconds, her smile seems genuine enough, and she’s walking towards them. 

Cid’s heart beats louder and faster and harder with each step she takes towards them. He’s sure everyone notices the way his chest heaves underneath his t-shirt, and he wishes he would have cleaned up a bit before coming, but if the sight of him disgusts her, she hides it well. 

“Hi, boys,” Charlie says, standing just behind Oster. “Are we having fun?”

“Just doing a little low-stakes gambling,” Oster replies, gesturing to their half-finished card game. Charlie raises her eyebrows, looking impressed, as if a five-year-old has just shown her a horrible drawing that they’re very proud of. “Care to join us for a round?”

“Low-stakes gambling happens to be my specialty,” Charlie laughs, either oblivious to his friends’ lecherous leering or choosing to ignore it completely. “But please, I don’t want to intrude.” 

“Not intruding, ma’am,” Garret tells her with a wide smile, his front two teeth browned and nicotine-stained. “It’ll be sweet to take some money from a Shinra, anyway.”

Oster clears his throat loudly. “Garret—”

Charlie only laughs again, feigning outrage. “No, it’s all right,” she tells Oster, holding a hand up as if silencing someone far below her. “Those are fighting words, you know. You think you can back them up?”

“Here, sit down by me, Miss Shinra,” Vidal tells her, dragging a chair closer from the table beside them. “I’m Vidal, and that’s Garret. You know Oster already . . .” Vidal's brown cow eyes meet Cid’s blue ones. He refuses to look Charlie in the face. “And Cid, of course.”

“Are you just going to ignore me all night?” Charlie asks, and there’s no denying her question is aimed at him. She’s looking right at him, a smug little smile on her bright and perky face, flushed and glowing. 

“Hi, Lottie,” he grunts, lighting up another cigarette, surprised that Charlie doesn’t correct him. 

Despite what misgivings he may have had at first, Charlie is wonderful company, even among Cid’s dirty and perverted and foul-mouthed group of friends. She enjoys gambling, it seems, and might be good at it if she could keep a straight face. Every time she looks up into Cid’s face, smiling, he tries to determine whether or not her hand will beat his own, but always ends up distracted by the sight of those perfect teeth, that perfect smile. 

His friends don’t seem at all hesitant to ask her questions, to ask about what she does at Headquarters, or about her decision to become an aeronautical engineer, or even about her fiancé, but Charlie, he notices, refuses to give them any real answers. 

When Garret asks her why she’s chosen to marry someone on her father’s payroll, Charlie replies, “His money, mostly,” and the table erupts with laughter. 

When Vidal asks what she’s been doing at her father’s company, she answers, “Damage control, of course.”

When Oster asks if she’s going to start repairing the rocket, she tells him, “Isn’t that what Cid is for?”

Cid doesn’t say much himself. His mouth is so dry, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he continues to consume. The most he’s capable of doing is sneaking looks at her while she’s busy thinking, a crease between her thin eyebrows that reminds her of the way she looked while working on the Highwind or the Shinra No. 26, her teeth digging into her soft bottom lip. 

He had forgotten how easy it was to talk to her. Charlie fits in perfectly with a group of hardened, uncouth men after working on an airship _and_ on a rocket with the dirtiest fucking men Cid ever knew. She doesn’t blush when they make dirty jokes, she doesn’t scrunch her nose when they curse, keeps up with them as they drink.

When Charlie wins the first pile of gil, she laughs about it, always laughing, and offers to give everyone their money back. 

“That would defeat the purpose, I think, Miss Shinra,” Oster tells her, not looking half as frustrated as Garret or Vidal. “You won, fair and square.”

Cid scoffs. More than four years after the failed launch and Shinra Inc. _still_ continues to take from him, even in subtle ways like this. 

Vidal shuffles the cards, preparing to deal again, when Charlie’s phone goes off. Cid looks down at his hands, not wanting to listen to a one-sided conversation between her and her fiancé. 

“Oh, excuse me,” she says, getting to her feet, “it’s my assistant. I’ll just be a minute.”

Thankfully, Charlie walks away from the table to talk, and Cid feels it’s safe enough to look at her again. However, the moment his eyes settle on the side of her face, she turns and catches sight of him staring, smiling shyly at him and holding up a hand to wave. His cheeks burn and he turns away before he embarrasses himself further. 

“Awfully quiet over there, Cap,” Garret teases, his entire face bright red, his forehead shining with sweat. He’s beginning to slur his words now. “Didn’t realize all it took to scare the mighty Captain Highwind was a hot girl.”

“Don’t call her that,” Cid mumbles, dragging his thumb back and forth across his bottom lip, sighing heavily as Vidal deals him a shit hand. “She worked too hard to be where she is just to be called ‘a hot girl’.”

“Worked too hard?” Garret asks sharply, laughing mockingly in Cid’s face. “Let’s not pretend she didn’t get where she is because of daddy’s money.”

Cid glances across the bar again to find Charlie’s back to him, talking quietly into her phone. 

Garret leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his shaggy head. “Did you hear her flirting with me?” he asks, and everyone groans. “She wanted me. I could tell.”

“I’ve seen a picture of her fiancé,” Oster snorts, tapping one gil rapidly atop the table. “Trust me, Garret, she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“Besides,” Vidal adds, “you ain’t got no money. Charlotte Shinra wouldn’t marry someone with no money.”

“I ain’t talking about marriage,” Garret says, waving a clumsy and flippant hand. “I don’t wanna marry a girl like that. Bet she can be a real bitch. I just wanna fuck her.”

“Easy,” Cid says, taking a long pull off his cigarette (he’s lost count by now), giving Garret a dangerous look. “Don’t be an ass.”

“The hell is your problem?” Garret asks, and there’s a tinge of anger and incredulity to his words. While he isn’t really terrifying in the slightest, with a small build and a square jaw, Cid knows how violent he can get after drinking so much. “Even after what she did to you, you’re still gonna defend her?”

“I’m just tellin’ you to cool it,” Cid answers, smashing his cigarette in the half-full ashtray. “You’re bein’ a fuckin’ asshole. She ain’t just a piece of ass for you to stick your tiny dick in.”

Oster and Vidal watch the exchange carefully, seemingly shrinking back into their chairs. 

“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” Garret replies, exchanging a knowing look with Vidal. “We all know _you_ ’d stick it in her. Bet she’d even spread her legs willingly for _you_ , if you asked nicely enough.”

“She’s engaged,” Cid says through gritted teeth, the idea rubbing him the wrong way. 

“Yeah, to some jerk-off from her daddy’s company,” Garret laughs, and Cid glances over his shoulder, half-afraid that Charlie is going to hear them, but she’s still deep in conversation on the phone. “That sweet cunt of hers is wasted on a guy like him.”

“Garret—” The word comes out louder than Cid expected, but his friend plunges on drunkenly, much to the chagrin of the others around them. He hates himself for jumping to Charlie and Reeve’s defense, _hates_ himself.

“How else do you think she gets people to like her so much? She probably fucks them, of course.”

“All right, you know what—”

Before Cid knows what he’s doing, he’s on his feet, his right hand curled into a fist, and that fist is connecting with Garret’s crooked nose, knocking him backwards and sending him crashing to the ground with blood spurting from both of his oversized nostrils. 

He can hear Charlie screaming his name, and Oster is pulling him away from the table while Vidal kneels down beside Garret, and he’s sure once the adrenaline fades, his hand is going to hurt like hell. 

“What are you _doing!_ ” 

Charlie looks furious, looking more like her brother than ever. Cid blinks at her, still seeing red. “Huh?”

Her eyes flick down to take in Garret’s appearance. He’s half-slumped against the wall, with Vidal holding napkins in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Cards and coins litter the ground, and Garret’s drink has spilled down the front of him, the glass lying empty on the dusty floor. 

“He was bad-mouthin’ you, Lottie,” Cid hears himself say plainly. “You should’a heard what he was sayin’!”

She almost—for the span of a second—looks amused, but then her mouth tightens. “Whatever he said, I’m sure I’ve heard worse.” Sighing, Charlie crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s all right, Oster. I’ll drive him home.”

“Are—are you sure, Miss Shinra?” Oster asks, sweating profusely and blushing. 

“Let me pull the truck up to the door,” she says quickly, and before Cid can protest, she’s already walking towards the door, dignified and graceful and _angry_. 

“The _fuck_ did you do that for?” Garret snaps at him after Charlie leaves the bar and Oster attempts to talk down the bartender. “Can’t you take a joke, man? You fucking Shinra lover—”

“I don’t _love_ Shinra!” Cid retorts hotly, taking a step closer. “You wanna get fuckin’ hit again?”

“Maybe you should go home and get some rest,” Vidal says breathily, helping Garret back up to his feet, the front of his white shirt stained dark red with blood. “You drank too much, Cid. Sleep it off.”

Cid blinks a few more times as a horrible throbbing pain begins in his right hand, beating in time with his racing heart. When he holds it up to his face, it shakes terribly. 

_Shit shit shit shit fuck_ —

“C’mon.” Oster is suddenly pulling at his arm, and Cid stumbles. “Charlotte was gonna pull a car ‘round for you.”

Cid jerks her arm out of Oster’s grip. “Get the fuck off me.” He brushes himself off, inhaling deeply to catch his breath. “I can get there just fine by myself.”

He scoops what gil he can off the table, pocketing the money he’d won, and tucks his cigarettes away into his pocket. 

The moment he turns his back, he knows he shouldn’t have. Vidal and Oster shout his name, but Cid doesn’t turn quickly enough. 

Garret’s arm, raised high above him, comes down with unprecedented speed, his empty glass shattering upon coming into contact with Cid’s skull, knocking him out within seconds. 


	10. Chapter 10

His head is fucking pounding. 

When he opens his eyes, the only thing he sees for a minute are little flashing lights that only make his headache worse. When he opens them for a second time, it’s to find that he’s staring up at the ceiling of his own living room, at the dusty rafters. 

Groaning, Cid puts a hand over his eyes, a hand that throbs violently with its own pulse. “ _Shera!_ ”

“I’m not Shera.”

The low, cold voice coming from beside him sends a jolt of electricity to his heart. He attempts to sit up, but a gentle hand at odds with the harsh voice touches his arm, urging him to lie back down on the couch. 

It takes him a moment to realize what’s going on. The moment he connects the dots and realizes that Charlotte _Shinra_ is sitting in his own fucking house, he begins to panic, his heart racing and cold sweat dripping down the back of his aching neck. 

“Cigarette,” he murmurs gruffly, feeling sick to his stomach, but he isn’t sure if that’s due to a concussion or due to Charlie’s presence. He supposes it’s a little bit of both.

Charlie hesitates, but picks up the soft pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, pushing aside two hunting rifles to get to a lighter. Placing a cigarette to his lips, she lights it for him, as well, and Cid has to admit that it’s a pretty sight to see President Shinra’s daughter waiting on him. He almost asks her to do more, but doesn’t want to push it just yet.

“How long’ve I been out?” he asks, still feeling drunk. Things are starting to come back to him . . . the way Garret had spoken of Charlie, the way he had looked with blood spilling from a freshly broken nose, the way he had looked when he brought down a thick, empty glass on Cid’s head. 

“A few hours,” she answers, still sounding cold. “You were bleeding pretty bad. I patched you up the best I could, but I’m an engineer, not a doctor.”

He touches his head lightly, feeling a bandage taped to his hairline, and his hair feels slightly sticky, like there’s blood in it. “How’d you get me here?”

“Oster helped me carry you. You’re heavy.”

“You carried me?” Cid asks.

“If it hadn’t been raining, I would have left you on the sidewalk outside the bar.”

“Goddamn, Lottie—”

“Don’t call me that,” she says quickly. Her face is stony, serious, beautiful. Whatever warmth she might have felt towards him earlier is completely gone now, and it angers it, angers him because he’d been _defending_ her.

They look at each other for a long time, mouths drawn tight. The only sound is his ragged breathing and the rain pounding against the rooftop. There’s something sad about her, he decides, but when she tucks some hair behind her ear, he catches sight of her engagement ring and finally looks away. 

“Why did you have to do that, Cid?” she asks, sounding exasperated with him. He feels no older than a kid, caught by his mother with his pants down.

“You should’a heard what he was sayin’ ‘bout you,” he sighs, closing his eyes again and inhaling deep off his cigarette. “He was talkin’ ‘bout stickin’ it in you and . . . he was sayin’ stuff ‘bout your cunt, Lottie.”

He opens his eyes to see her cheeks turn pretty pink. “I don’t need you to defend me,” she tells him flatly, holding up an ashtray so he’s able to ash his cigarette without much effort. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I’ve heard worse while walking through the slums.”

Cid frowns, looking around his messy living room. Shera does her best to keep the place clean, but he’s never taken much stock in cleanliness. “Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he says quietly, only more embarrassed when Charlie looks around the room, pale eyes taking in the clothes thrown over his favorite chair and the guns on the table and the empty beer bottles he’s yet to clean up. “I know it ain’t the fancy fuckin’ luxury palace you’re used to.”

“It’s fine,” she replies, shrugging it off. “It looks lived in.”

“You talk to Shera?”

“No.”

“Too good for that, huh?”

“You’re on thin ice, Cid.”

Cid falters, putting his cigarette out and sitting up slowly. His knuckles are bruised and bright red, and his wrist hurts like a bitch. “That’s rich,” he scoffs, watching her eyebrows furrow together. “You come here wavin’ that fuckin’ ring in my face, but I’m not allowed to live with someone?”

“The _someone_ in question sabotaged our rocket launch, in case you’ve forgotten,” Charlie answers, so confident and sure of herself and arrogant. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want. I just thought our launch meant more to you than that.” 

Cid almost whines when she gets to her feet. “Hang on! You’re not leavin’ yet! I got a head injury . . . you’re not gonna let me die here, are you?”

“I’m sure Shera is capable of caring for you, though her care will likely be second-rate, given her track history,” she says with her eyebrows raised, putting her hands on her hips. “Stop being such a baby.”

“I don’t even get a ‘thank you’ for punchin’ that asshole?”

“No, you don’t.”

Gritting his teeth as pain swells in his forehead, Cid makes some incoherent noise at her that sounds more like a feral growl than anything. Charlie stares down at him, bewildered.

“The money I won from you,” she says after another minute, when she’s sure he’s done making wild animal noises, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder and pointing towards the kitchen, “I left it in a bag on the kitchen table for you.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ Shinra blood money,” he spits, and the venom in his voice is enough to make her soften, just slightly. 

“Fine,” she replies, fussing with her ring, twisting it on her finger. “Then give it to someone else who needs it. I don’t want it.”

The fact that she doesn’t leave right away gives him some small shred of hope. He doesn’t quite know what he wants from her. He wants to talk to her, sure, and it would be a dream to touch her again, to feel such soft skin beneath his rough fingers one more time, but he isn’t going to get his hopes up. 

“I saw that speech you gave,” he blurts out, knowing that it will likely only lead to another argument, but he can’t help it. He’s been waiting years to give Charlotte Shinra a piece of his mind, but now that she’s standing here right in front of him, his courage seems to fail him. “Execute anyone yet?”

He’s done it now and he knows it. He’s made her real angry, if she hadn’t been angry before. “I should have left you on the street. You would have deserved it,” she hisses at him, looking prepared to throw something else at his head. “Does it feel good to sit on your patched up sofa of self-righteousness?” 

Cid blushes furiously. “Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone, huh?” he asks, hoping that she doesn’t take him at his word, hoping that she doesn’t walk out that door. “It’s been almost five years and I still can’t seem to get away from Shinra.”

“You should be thanking _me_ for dragging you out of that bar.”

“Thank you,” he says flatly, wondering if Shera can hear their argument from her bedroom. “You happy now? We gonna have an adult conversation now that doesn’t involve arguin’?”

Charlie seems conflicted, dancing back and forth in the threshold of the living room before settling on staying, if only for a little longer. Cid checks the clock hanging on the wall above the television, surprised that it’s nearing two in the morning. 

She walks back over to him, kneeling at his side and reaching up to touch him. Cid flinches wildly, causing her to pause, wide-eyed. “Stop,” she insists, touching the bandage on his forehead. “You’re bleeding through your bandage. That’s what happens when you overexert your brain, you idiot.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Just five minutes ago you were acting like a big baby.”

“That was just the concussion talkin’.”

For the first time since he’s come to, Charlie smiles. It’s a weak smile and a tired one, but it’s a smile nonetheless. She pulls back the bandage and tape, taking some of his hair with it, and when she sets it down on the table, Cid sees that it’s stained scarlet. She fusses around in the first-aid kit on the floor, pulling out some gauze. 

“Hold that to your head, would you?” she asks, holding it out for him to take. Cid does as she says, ignoring the pulsing he feels underneath the pressure he applies. “You could have been seriously hurt. You’re lucky your head didn’t split open all the way to your tiny brain.”

“Don’t tell me now that you care ‘bout what happens to me,” he mutters, pulling his hand away as she tapes another bandage to his forehead. Cid’s eyes flutter closed, her fingers gentle and soft and warm against his skin. When her fingers are lifted, his eyes snap open again, the dream over. 

“Maybe I’m not as callous as you want to believe I am.”

“You’ve given me plenty of reasons to believe you’re just like your old man.”

“Are you going to indulge me?” she asks, seemingly amused. 

“Like orderin’ me to sacrifice Shera.”

Charlie gives him a look that clearly says she’s annoyed with him. It’s endearing, familiar, and sort of cute. “I’m not going to apologize for giving you that order. You should be apologizing to _me_ for not obeying it.”

He doesn’t know what he had expected. Did he really think she was going to apologize? Maybe. Did he want to believe she would be sorry? Yes. But he should have known that wouldn’t be the case. 

She closes the first-aid kit and puts the bloody bandage into a bag, holding it between her fingertips before sealing it and tossing it back onto the table. All the while, he watches the way the light catches her diamond ring, mocking him with its obvious beauty. 

“You don’t really wanna marry him, do you?” Cid asks softly, his voice cracking. That must be the concussion, too. “You don’t actually wanna marry that fuckin’ goon, do you?”

Charlie gives him a level stare, betraying nothing in her tired face. “Yes,” she answers, just as quiet, “I do, and I wouldn’t have agreed if I felt otherwise.”

“C’mon, Lottie, that ain’t you. Look at what he is . . . he’s just some prick on your father’s payroll, linin’ his pockets with blood money off your father’s crimes—”

“Reeve isn’t like that,” she interrupts him, her voice firm. “He’s different.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes and irritating her further. “Famous last words.”

“I think I know him a little better than you do.”

“I thought _you_ were different,” he says again.

Charlie shrugs, at a loss. “Then maybe you didn’t really know me as well as you thought you did.”

Cid feels a lump form in his throat. It wasn’t enough that, over four years ago, the woman he loved dismissed him from the best job he’d ever had and never spoke to him afterwards, but now she has to be here, defending some Shinra prick to his face. He’ll never escape Charlie, it seems, and it’s equal parts terrifying and infuriating and humiliating.

“Then what’re you doin’ here, in Rocket Town?” he asks her, turning his head to look right into her face. She looks like she could sleep for days, blinking slowly at him. 

To his surprise, his question seems to make Charlie nervous. She smiles a small smile at him, unable to find proper words for a few moments. “Research.”

“Research, my ass.” His head is swimming. “You’re such a fuckin’ liar, Charlie. It’s just us here now.”

“You think I came here to see you?”

“I won’t pretend I didn’t hope that was the case.” He turns away from her, looking directly at the rough fabric of his couch. “Should’a known better, I guess. You ain’t the same person I thought you were four years ago. I know that now.”

“You think that I was just pretending to be someone else around you? All those years ago?”

“I dunno what to think anymore. You must have a million personalities.”

“Cid,” she begins breathlessly, and the sound of his name rolling off her tongue like that makes him warm around the collar, “I . . .”

When she doesn’t continue, Cid presses her, needing to know what she’s thinking. “What?” He feels bad suddenly, when he notices how close she looks to crying. Sitting up on the couch, he moves his legs, making room for her. “Here, you ain’t gotta sit on that hard floor.”

Charlie pauses, but eventually takes him up on his offer, sitting down on the couch, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Cid regrets it; her face had been so close to his while she sat on the floor, and now she feels a million miles away.

“Lottie, what’s goin’ on?”

She doesn’t correct him again. That’s a good sign. 

Charlie shakes her head. “I’m not going to bother you with my own problems. You should probably get some rest. I need to get back to the inn.” She gets to her feet again, wringing her hands together in front of her. Maybe it’s not only him that’s nervous. “Do you really not want the money?”

Of course he wants the money, but he can’t look weak right now. “No.”

“Well . . . I’ll leave it there. You can give it away if you really don’t want it, or . . . consider it a donation towards repairs for the rocket.” Charlie holds her hands behind her back as she turns in the threshold again, looking at him with what seems like pity. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask to see the rocket again sometime this week?”

Cid nods slowly. After what she did for him tonight, it’s the least he can do for her, especially after what she said about the Tiny Bronco. 

Before she leaves, she stops again, looking over her shoulder at him. “For what it’s worth,” she sighs, “I wasn’t going to give that speech, but I . . .” She wraps her arms around herself. “I guess I’m not as brave as I thought I was.”

“Scared of your daddy’s reaction?” he asks gently. “Is he the angry type?”

“No, it’s not that, really,” she replies with a sad smile. “I guess I just wanted him to be proud of me.”

“Who the fuck cares what he thinks ‘bout anythin’?”

“I do,” she says sharply. “He’s still my father.”

Cid exhales loudly, lighting up another smoke as he hears the front door open and close, the rumbling of a truck’s engine cutting through the soft pitter-patter of the rain. 

_She’s always been a Shinra, you fucking moron,_ he thinks to himself, still able to smell the flowery scent of her perfume. _No matter what she says, she’ll always be a Shinra._

* * *

One minute she had been on the phone with Pia, rescheduling a meeting with a caterer, and the next minute she had heard the cracking of a broken nose and she was screaming his name.

Oster had been sweet, helping Charlie and the bartender lift an unconscious Cid into the backseat of the truck she had rented, shoving him inside unceremoniously, the three of them all grumbling about how stupid he had been. It was only on the way back to Cid’s house that Oster had told her what exactly caused Cid to do what he did, which only made Charlie angrier. 

When Shera had opened the door, bleary-eyed and in a horrible-looking plaid nightgown that Charlie would never be caught dead in, to find Oster supporting Cid underneath his arms and Charlotte Shinra holding onto his legs, she had let them in without a word. 

Thankfully, Oster had explained everything to Shera. The only words Charlie and Shera had exchanged were a polite offering and refusal of tea, and then Shera had moseyed back down a hallway towards the back of the house. 

Charlie had asked for a first-aid kit, unsure of what she was really capable of doing for him, and Oster had fetched one from beneath the kitchen sink, placed it on the coffee table, and thanked her for the money she had returned to him before leaving, walking back to his own house with one of Cid’s old and ragged umbrellas. 

She can’t deny that the hours spent in silence were awkward. Cid had moaned and groaned a little bit while she was working on his head, but he hadn’t been able to form any proper words, and she remembers that his breath had smelled strongly of alcohol, his lips chapped and his skin dry and leathery from the sun. 

And yet, while Charlie had spent most of her time flipping through the magazines on the coffee table (flipping _over_ the one with her face on it), she had taken the time to get a good look at him while she was able, half-afraid that his eyes would snap open as she was examining his face.

The bridge of his nose had been slightly crooked, like it had been broken before and never quite healed right. The hair at his temples had been lighter than the rest, slightly grayer at his hairline. Charlie had stopped herself before touching his exposed collar bone, fingers hovering above his skin, wondering what it would feel like to touch him there, smooth and soft and warm.

His lips had been slightly parted, drawing in ragged breaths loudly. And just as Charlie had been about to leave him, sleeping soundly on the sofa, she had heard it—so soft that she hadn’t believed it at first. 

“ _Charlotte_ ,” he’d mumbled, the next few words soft and incoherent. 

“Don’t worry,” she had whispered to him, settling onto the floor beside him. “I’m here.”

The gesture had been sweet, she’ll admit. Despite Cid’s overreaction, the idea of him springing to action at all to defend her causes something long tucked away to stir within her. To think, after all this time, after all these years, after everything that happened . . . to think that Cid might still hold _some_ regard for her . . . 

Not that it matters. She hadn’t come here for Cid, and she hopes he understands that. She hadn’t come here for her rocket either. She had come to Rocket Town to seek something she doesn’t quite understand, to see if she could, in some way, find a piece of herself she feels she’s been missing since the day of the launch. 

Perhaps she’s searching for a thrill, for a new adventure, something to break the tediously dull cycle of her life, even just for a few days. Maybe she just wants to be herself again, to step away from the life of puppetry she’s been leading, to distance herself from her work, from the company, from Shinra, just for a little bit. 

She thought she would find it among the stars, her former self, but that hadn’t quite been the case. 

She had only found that thrill while sitting in Cid Highwind’s living room, remembering how he had once made her feel, remembering how it had felt to be someone other than President Shinra’s daughter, remembering how it had felt to be excited and hopeful, remembering how it felt to kiss a pilot in an open field on a starry night without immediately worrying about consequences. 

President Shinra had been right. 

Cid is fun, and exciting. He’s spontaneous and doesn’t take himself too seriously. He does what he wants without having to report to someone above him. He hasn’t lost sight of himself like Charlie has, still the same man he had been four years ago, but bitter and jealous and . . . 

Unable to move past the rocket launch, just like her. 

It’s history now to everyone at Shinra Inc. So much time has passed and so many other projects have been developed and planned that Charlie’s failure seems forgotten now. It had just been a very small piece of Shinra’s history, now tucked away in the archives for anyone who’s curious enough to go snooping. 

She’s about to lie down and go to sleep when her phone _pings!_ through the darkness. Charlie opens her text to find it’s from Cid, short and sweet and to the point.

_My place, noon tomorrow._

Charlie hesitates. She hasn’t seen Cid’s name come through on her phone for a long time. Regardless, she types up a simple reply, sending it through before going to sleep.

_OK._

* * *

“Need a man’s help?”

“Nope. I think—I’ve—” Charlie grunts and there’s a loud _clank!_ that makes Cid slightly nervous. “Got it!”

“What was that noise?” he asks shrilly, moving around the Tiny Bronco to make sure Charlie hasn’t fucked up the engine too bad. He shouldn’t have doubted her for a second, however, for the engine looks picture perfect, just the way he left it. “Shit, good job, Lottie.”

“You want to double-check before we start it?”

“Huh?”

Charlie wipes her greasy hands on the front of her white (now stained gray and black) t-shirt, a light jacket thrown over her shoulders, the same one she had been wearing last night at the bar, the one with the Shinra patch on the sleeve. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, some loose strands falling on either side of her face, tucked back behind her ears every so often. She had taken her engagement ring off when it was clear she was going to be getting dirty, and Cid’s rather glad to see her finger bare again. 

For a minute, it’s like nothing has changed. It’s like time has stood still for them, and it’s four years ago, and Charlie isn’t engaged to some jerk-off she works with. 

She taps the wrench against the palm of her right hand, looking down to admire her work as Cid lingers on the other side, eyes drawn to her chest. As she bends down to place the wrench on top of his toolbox in the grass, he’s gifted a wonderful sight, a pretty little sight of cleavage that he hasn’t been afforded in a long time.

“I said, do you want to double-check it?”

Cid blinks at her, snapping out of whatever trance she put him under. “Do I need to?”

Charlie raises her eyebrows, smiling as she wipes her hands off on an old hand towel. He blushes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, unable to look away from her. “What’s wrong?” she asks him, so fucking innocently, touching her cheeks with long, thin fingers. “Is there something on my face?”

He clears his throat. “No,” he answers. “No, it’s fine. Let’s start her up.”

“If it doesn’t work this time, I’ll scream.”

Cid laughs, hopping up into the pilot’s seat of the Tiny Bronco just as the sun is beginning to set. 

She had shown up to his house five minutes early, texting him to let him know she had arrived. It hasn’t surprised him in the slightest—he’s certain she only avoided knocking to avoid seeing Shera’s face. 

He had taken Charlie around back to take a look at his plane. The wing had needed some repairs, so they had done that first, and Charlie did everything he asked of her, and did it well. That had taken them hours, but the engine had been quicker, especially with the two of them working together, falling back into a routine like she never left him. 

A few times she had reached up high, and Cid would catch a tiny sliver of her pale skin as her shirt began to ride up. Her cheeks would get flushed the longer they worked, and conversation came so naturally, even when he would drift off into his own fucking world where the only people who existed were him and Lottie.

The afternoon had gone by too quickly, and the both of them had only taken a short break to stuff their faces with sandwiches and drinking a single bottle of beer before moving on. 

He doesn’t want it to end. 

Charlie takes a few steps back, crossing her arms over her chest as he starts up the Tiny Bronco. The first time, the propeller _tries_ , but Charlie encourages him to start it again, and the second time the engine roars to life, the propeller spinning quick, quickly, quicker.

She throws a fist in the air and smiles, reminiscent of the nineteen-year-old girl he used to know. “We did it!” she shouts over the loud rumbling of the plane. 

Cid takes a chance, for the first time in a long time. “Wanna go for a test fly?”

Charlie’s face lights up, her smile widening with her eyes. The setting sun shines down on her like a spotlight, and something in him softens at the sight of her looking so fucking normal, so excited and happy at the prospect of a flight around town in _his_ plane. 

Without answering, Charlie climbs up into the seat behind him, buckling herself in and accepting the extra pair of goggles from him. She looks goofy with them on, made goofier by the toothy smile she flashes at him. 

“Are you ready?” he shouts at her, glancing over his shoulder to see her nod. 

The moment the Tiny Bronco takes off into the cool autumn air, Charlie screams. It startles him, and he turns around best he can to see what’s wrong, but nothing’s wrong, nothing at all. Her arms are spread wide as if hoping to embrace the clouds, and she’s laughing with her mouth open wide, cheeks bright pink and ponytail whipped around by the wind. 

Cid turns back around, facing forward, his heart beating fast, a smile growing on his face. He hasn’t flown the Tiny Bronco in about a year, not since a storm had fucked up the plane’s wing real bad. He could have asked Shera to help, but she’s so goddamn slow about things, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally erupt on her for fucking something up even though she just wanted to help. 

He flies Charlie around Rocket Town, a beautiful sight as the village darkens and lights begin to flicker on inside the buildings to create, on high, the perfect picture for a postcard. He lands shortly afterwards, not wanting to exhaust his little biplane so shortly after fixing it, and wanting to see if he has the courage to take one more chance.

As Charlie removes her goggles, rubbing at the imprints the material has left against her smooth and unblemished skin, Cid cracks his knuckles in an attempt to distract himself from the sight of her pulling her ponytail out, shaking her head and running a hand through her wavy hair. 

“Listen, Lottie,” he begins slowly, and she smiles at him encouragingly, not at all the cold and frigid Charlotte he had spoken to just last night. “You did me a big solid, helpin’ me fix the Tiny Bronco.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind at all,” she replies, zipping up her jacket. “Thanks for giving me a ride. It was . . . exhilarating.” 

He swells with pride. “I was thinkin’ . . . y’know, we’ve got four or so years to catch up on. I might have some leftovers in the kitchen we can take up to the rocket or somethin’.”

“The rocket?”

“Yeah, it’s—sometimes I like to sit up there, you know?”

“And look at the stars?”

He nods, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah, you know me.”

Charlie considers him for a long time, trying to stifle a smile, but failing miserably. She bites down on her lower lip, worrying it between perfect teeth. “I have a lot of work to do,” she says, and Cid can feel his stomach twist and his heart drops. “But ask me again tomorrow, okay?”

He nods slowly, recovering his dignity. “Okay.”

She allows herself a genuine smile, then. Her eyes crinkle up at the corners and there’s a shallow dimple on her left cheek. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Pretty sure my brain’s a little rattled,” he jokes, only half-serious, “but I think I’ll live. Thanks, doc.”

“Good to know you’ve still got your wits about you, at least.”

Cid laughs, exhaling through his nose. “Thanks for not leavin’ me on the sidewalk, Lottie.”

“What can I say?” she shrugs, looking pleased with herself in a way that makes him laugh again. It’s like she’s a different person now than the one he sees on television, different even from the woman who had dragged him back home last night. “I see a poor man in distress and my heart just _aches_ for him.”

Placing a hand over his injured head, Cid replies, “My hero.”

Charlie seems to think it’s funny, but he catches sight of something sad in her face. Up close, she always seems to look sad. “What time tomorrow?”

“For what?”

“What time should I meet you?”

“I ain’t even asked you yet,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “What if I changed my mind?” He expects her to answer with some witty comeback, something to keep him on his toes, but she says nothing at all, looking down at her the boots on her feet. “I was just kiddin’, Lottie. I didn’t mean to—” _hurt your feelings? what do i care about her feelings, she ain’t nothing to me_ —

Charlie lifts her eyes to cock an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t mean to what?”

“Huh?”

This makes her laugh again, so soft and sweet and just for him. “Don’t you ever listen?”

“What do you mean?” He knows what she means. Half the time he’s too busy thinking his own thoughts to realize she’s started talking. “I’m just thinkin’, that’s all.”

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?” she asks, holding her hands behind her back and raising both eyebrows. 

“Tell _my_ deep dark secrets to a _Shinra?_ ” he teases, and his joke seems to fall slightly flat. If he hadn’t hurt her feelings before, it certainly seems like he has now. The smile vanishes from her face, and she has the grace to look ashamed. “I’m fuckin’ it all up, ain’t I?”

Charlie shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Then let me at least walk you back to your truck.”

“It’s only on the other side of the house.”

But Cid insists, walking her _around_ the house, not through, back to the army green truck sitting out front. He even opens the door for her, but she lingers just outside it, chewing anxiously on her lip. He’s glad for it—he isn’t quite ready to say good-bye, either, especially after spending all day without once arguing, without bringing up their nasty history. 

“I have something to ask you,” she whispers, as if there might be people listening close by. Cid’s sure she’s used to Headquarters, where the walls likely have eyes and ears. 

“What is it?”

She looks over her shoulder towards his house, the television light flickering in the living room window. “Why do you really live with her?”

“She keeps the house tidy.”

Charlie doesn’t laugh. She nods reluctantly, climbing into the truck and digging the key out of her pants pocket. She makes to close the door, but Cid catches it, strong enough to hold it open even as she attempts to shut herself in. 

“She ain’t got nowhere else to go, Lottie,” he tells her, and it’s only half a lie. “She just wants to make up for what she did. She wants to live for me, to repay me for her damn mistakes, then so be it.” Cid grunts as Charlie tries to slam the door shut again, nearly shutting it on his arm. “Stop doin’ that! You’re gonna hurt me!”

“Then move your arm so I can shut the door.” The engine roars to life as she turns the key in the ignition. 

“Tell me you’re gonna meet me tomorrow evenin’.”

Charlie turns her head to look at him, thoroughly annoyed with him, it seems. “We’ll see.”

Cid allows her to close the door, the window still down. He places a hand on the blunt edge of it, watching her put the truck in gear rather moodily. “Put your damn seatbelt on, Lottie, ‘fore you go flyin’ out the windshield and give me a heart attack. I ain’t gonna be the one to tell your daddy you died out here.”

He fully expects another annoyed look from her, but the look she gives him then is one that’s slightly more endearing, and she puts her seatbelt on like he says. He smiles and takes a few steps backwards as she rolls the window up, looking a little more at ease now. 

The engine sputters once, but she makes her exit as gracefully as one can while in a beat up truck that leaves behind black clouds, polluting the air of Rocket Town like she’s back in Midgar. 

Regardless of what that fucking truck exhales into the clean air, Cid can’t deny that it had been real nice to hear her laugh again, to see her smile from the back of his Tiny Bronco, to look at him with an expression that was so familiar, so loving and friendly and warm. 

_Fuck her,_ he thinks. _She makes it so fucking hard to hate her_.


	11. Chapter 11

“Don’t be starin’ at my ass. I’m self-conscious, you know.”

Charlie glances up, blushing when she looks. “Then stop shaking it in my face, you idiot.”

Cid pulls himself up to the platform, dropping his bag loudly on the metal and reaching down for Charlie’s hand. As she nears the top, she takes Cid’s hand in her own, allowing him to pull her up with surprising strength and letting go as if this simple contact was nothing to him.

She cradles her hand against her chest, the heat of his skin still lingering on her own.

“Okay, listen, I know you’re used to fancy gourmet food, so I hope this cheap take-out don’t make you sick. I’d feel pretty bad.” Cid clears his throat, sitting down on the platform and propping himself comfortably against the rocket. He digs around in his canvas bag, withdrawing several cans of beer, a fifth of whiskey, the food he had promised her, and an unopened pack of cigarettes. “What’re you doin’? Come sit down.”

Charlie smiles, tracing her lower lip with her tongue before finally agreeing to sit, keeping a safe amount of distance between them. “How are we going to get back down if we start drinking?” she asks.

Cid scoffs, opening the box with Charlie’s food and sticking a pair of chopsticks in the center of the sticky rice pile. “I’ve done it plenty of times, and I ain’t dead yet,” he replies. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll go down first and you can just jump instead of climb. I’ll catch you.”

The serious and matter-of-fact way he delivers that statement catches Charlie off guard. “You seem very confident. Have you caught many women from the top of our rocket?”

“Ain’t no one comes up here besides me,” he says, glancing up from his food in her direction, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “And you.” Cid pats the platform he’s seated upon, impatient. “Sit down.”

“You don’t give me commands, Captain.”

He doesn’t falter. Instead, the corners of his lips quirk upwards. “Sit down,” he says again, slowly this time, as if Charlie hadn’t been listening the first time. “And eat your goddamn food that I carried all the way up for you.”

Charlie sits, but she isn’t sure she can eat. Butterflies flutter around madly in her stomach, and she’s afraid of what Cid might think to ask her while they’re alone, while he has the chance. She’s afraid of having to answer for her decision to fire him, she’s afraid of having to explain her role within Shinra Inc. in detail, she’s afraid of having to talk about the events that pushed her and Reeve together. 

So instead of waiting for him to swallow the massive amount of food in his mouth (his cheek bulges out like a greedy little rodent, but it’s sort of cute, in a childish way), Charlie begins the conversation, hoping it take control from the start. “When did you move here?”

Cid looks sideways at her, swallowing loudly and washing it down with a long drink of beer. He coughs, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Charlie finds herself unable to look away, despite his obvious lack of manners. “Few months after I left,” he answers, almost too readily. “Caught wind that they were thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ some fuckin’ tourist trap town and I offered to help with construction, wantin’ to see the rocket again. Left Junon and never went back. Was lookin’ for an out, anyway.”

“You don’t like Junon?”

“It’s a military town,” he says with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “And I ain’t military anymore. Besides, here, I got a place for the Tiny Bronco. Ain’t nowhere to put her when you’re livin’ in a tiny apartment in Junon.”

“Do you ever think about leaving this place?”

“Why would I?” Cid gestures to her rocket, smiling. “If you can find me a place that would accept my rocket—”

“ _Your_ rocket?”

“Shit, I ain’t seen you doin’ any work on her lately.”

Charlie grits her teeth, but allows him to joke about it. If she wanted to, she could have someone on their way, come to collect the rocket (in pieces or not) within five minutes. All she would have to do is place a few quick calls to Headquarters, and she could really show him then whose rocket it is. 

Thankfully, Cid talks very little about the rocket after that, perhaps realizing that he’s touched a nerve. He goes on at length about the process of building Rocket Town and what an adventure that had been, and then he talks about the handiwork he’s been doing around the town and how he makes his living off odd jobs here and there. 

It makes Charlie feel sad for him, struggling to survive in a town marked by disaster, but he doesn’t seem to be doing so bad. He lives like Charlie might imagine a single man to live—his kitchen always empty, watching too much television, skipping a shower or two. She doesn’t even want to talk about her own life, afraid that Cid might not take it kindly, afraid that Cid will only mock her for the luxury lifestyle she enjoys living.

But Cid’s life isn’t interesting enough to last them the entire evening. Charlie is only halfway through her meal when conversation switches to her, and he seems to make it his sole goal to embarrass her as much as possible. 

“You still livin’ in the same apartment?”

She nods. “It’s a little more crowded these days.”

“You’re livin’ with him?”

“We’re engaged. Of course I live with him. And Cat.”

“Cat?” Despite the brief mention of Reeve, Cid can’t help but smile at her. “That isn’t really your cat’s name, is it? What the hell kinda name is that?”

Charlie laughs, pulling her knees to her chest. “I fully intended to give him away, but he grew on me, and he already knew his name was Cat.”

“That’s the _stupidest_ fuckin’ name I’ve ever heard,” Cid cackles, making Charlie laugh harder, shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “Can’t wait to see what you name your kids. Boy? Girl? Son? Daughter? Child?”

“I know, it’s terrible,” she has to agree. 

“Tell me ‘bout that speech,” he says plainly, shoveling food in his mouth as if he hasn’t eaten a day in his life before now. “You said you weren’t gonna give it.”

“Maybe that’s all you need to know,” she shoots back.

“Damn, you don’t have to get defensive ‘bout it.” Cid holds his hands up in surrender, seemingly on the verge of rolling his eyes at her, but thinking better of it at the last moment. “Was only askin’ a question.” He smiles, raising an eyebrow. “I used to like that commercial you starred in. The one with the real catchy music.”

“No,” Charlie says, unable to keep her smile at bay now. She knows exactly what commercial he’s talking about, one that she has yet to live down within the company, as well. “No, don’t even talk about that.”

“It was so catchy! How did it go again?” He puts his food down to think hard, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. “Dun dun dun, dun dun, dun dun bah bah bah—”

“Stop it!” she laughs, giving his arm a playful swat. “It’s so embarrassing!”

Cid continues to hum the music, stopping and restarting to try it once more. “Bum bum bum bum, dun dun—” His hand rises and falls with the pitch, his offkey singing rather endearing—“dun dun dun dun, bah-dah, bah-dah—” He cuts off abruptly, grinning toothily at her. “You don’t like, watch yourself, do you?”

“Sometimes,” she admits. It’s hard to avoid herself on television, given that she’s on almost all the time, whether it be on some replayed speech or a recent news development or advertisements sponsored by rich friends of her father. “It doesn’t really bother me all that much.”

“Guess if you were ugly, it’d be different,” he laughs. 

Charlie can only laugh along with him, softly. The conversation is straying towards dangerous territory, and she fights the urge to flee.

Thankfully, Cid keeps conversation light and encourages her to drink and drink and drink, even when she struggles to consume the horrible beer he’s brought for them. She scrunches her nose with each drink, and it makes him laugh. 

After she’s had three cans of that piss-water and after finishing her food, Charlie’s drunken brain and full stomach bolster her courage. 

“So, are you going to tell me the truth now?”

“The truth ‘bout what?”

“About Shera, living with you.”

Cid tilts his head back and lets out a ‘ha!’ before lighting up a cigarette, giving his head a shake. “I’m tellin’ you, Lottie, there ain’t nothin’ goin’ on between us, and there never will be.” When this isn’t enough for Charlie, he continues, knowing what she’s thinking before she’s even thinking it. “She was here, helpin’ with construction after everythin’. You took everythin’ from her when you sacked her. Her job, then she lost her home . . . ain’t no one wants to hire someone who pissed off Charlotte Shinra, especially when the company who hires the most employees is run by Charlotte Shinra’s daddy.”

Charlie’s jaw clenches tight. “It wasn’t my fault the department was defunded.”

“Yeah? Then what happened after you left base camp?”

She hesitates, certainly not going to tell Cid that both her brother and her fiancé voted to defund her department. “My father relieved me of my position,” she answers, “and I had nothing to do with whatever followed.”

“No one got their pension, like you promised we would. No one got an apology, an explanation, severance pay. Nothin’, Lottie, nothin’ for us regular workin’ people.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Cid scoffs, looking away from her and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “And how long did it take for that fuckin’ snake to come onto you?”

Charlie knows that it’s going to start a fight. She knows that talking about Reeve will only cause Cid to grow tense, defensive, irritable, but the disdain with which Cid speaks of her future husband infuriates her. He doesn’t even _know_ Reeve, not to the extent that Charlie does, and to hear him being compared to the other horrible executives and suits that work at Shinra Inc. is borderline offensive. 

“He comforted me in the days after,” she explains. 

“Ah,” he retorts, his lip curling. “So he waited for Charlotte Shinra to lose everythin’ before makin’ a move on you, is that how it is? He couldn’t even call you by your name in the days before the launch.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she tells him flatly. “He wouldn’t do anything that I didn’t want, and he definitely calls me by my name now.”

“You fuckin’ settled.”

“I didn’t settle. I’ve known him for ten years of my life, Cid, and I loved him long before I met you.”

It’s a low blow, and she knows it. She can see something flicker in his eyes, anger maybe, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. She’s seen cold anger like this before, but normally Rufus is the one wearing the expression. 

“I didn’t realize how little I fuckin’ meant to you.” 

“Is that what you think? It’s because I cared about you so much that I couldn’t . . . I wasn’t going to get you involved with my life, with my family. You _know_ what they’re like. How could I do that to you?”

He smashes the end of his cigarette against the cool metal, putting it out instantly and huffing, _pouting_ , crossing his arms over his chest and brooding against the rocket. “Did you even think ‘bout me _once_ after the launch?”

Charlie deflates, the anger leaving her. He’s only heartbroken, and Charlie had left him without closure, without an apology, with an explanation. She had left him to survive in a world where he was branded a failure. “Of course I thought about you,” she whispers, reaching out to touch his wrist, but Cid jerks away from her. “What did you think was going to happen? You knew who I was. You knew the whole time, even if you didn’t want to admit it.”

“I dunno.”

“We were friends, Cid—”

“Don’t do that to me,” he snaps. “You knew I didn’t wanna just be friends. Even with you bein’ a Shinra—”

“ _Gods,_ you just can’t get over that, can you?” Charlie hisses, running her hands through her hair. It’s like hearing him say the very word, her last name, sends an entire shockwave through her, making her feel sick to her stomach. “I didn’t ask to be who I am! I didn’t ask to be a Shinra, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to live up to that expectation!”

“ _What_ expectation?” Cid asks, arguably just as angry as she is. “Why do you _have_ to do anythin’, Lottie?” Frustrated, he drags a hand down his face, groaning. “When was the last time you even did anythin’ for yourself? When was the last time you did somethin’ that made _you_ happy?”

“I’m happy,” she reminds him stiffly. “You don’t know anything about my life—”

“Yeah, your perfect fuckin’ life,” he says, voice dripping with venom. Charlie can feel her cheeks growing pink, _hating_ the way that Cid is so unafraid (or is he just stupid?) to stand up to her. “Your life must be real goddamn perfect for you to wanna hop on a plane and fly across the world to come _here_.” He suddenly gets to his feet, startling Charlie. “You know what? I don’t need your fuckin’ pity party or whatever it is you think you’re doin’. You must think I’m too stupid to understand, but I get the message loud and clear. You can leave now.”

“You can’t tell me to leave,” she answers, getting slowly to her feet to look up into his face. “This is _my_ rocket.”

“Is it?” He laughs in her face, and Charlie’s hand twitches. It would be so easy be to hold her hand up and strike him across the face. “Can’t you let me have this _one_ thing? You got a nice cushy job, all the money in the world, my airship, a husband that’s too afraid to stand up and call you a bitch when you’re bein’ one—”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I said you’re bein’ a bitch, Lottie! A spoiled, frigid bitch!” he shouts, hunching over to move closer to her face, their noses almost touching. “And this is _my_ goddamn rocket!” He grimaces at the sight of her, anger flashing across her face. She can feel it, the way her mouth is so tight, the way her jaw aches. “What? Not used to people tellin’ you the truth to your face?”

“Do you have any idea what I could do to you for speaking to me that way?”

“You can’t fire me, that’s for sure,” he replies, leaning back and putting his hands on his hips. He looks too smug for his own good. “You gonna tie me up like a fat hog and fly me back to HQ? Go on, then. Do it. Doesn’t make you any less of a bitch.”

“Stop calling me a bitch!”

“Then stop actin’ like one!” 

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” Their voices echo throughout the night, and Charlie is sure that everyone within five miles will be able to hear their argument. “You’ve always been a fuckin’ brat, but no one’s ever been brave enough to tell you!”

She hates him. She hates him hates him hates him. She _hates_ him. 

But maybe this is why she came back. Maybe . . . just to see what it would feel like to have a friend again, a real friend, because Cid’s absolutely right. 

Charlie could do the most twisted thing imaginable to Reeve and, chances are, he would _thank_ her for it. Never would he stand up to her, stand up for himself, especially not after being shot and beaten down so many times before within the company, expelling the willpower from him, expelling the confidence from him. 

She exhales, feeling as if Cid has knocked the wind out of her. For a moment, she can’t bring herself to look him in the eyes, and he softens because of it, his shoulders loosening, his hands reaching out to take hold of her arms, but leaving them hovering above her jacket. 

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Cid sighs, mumbling to himself. “Lottie . . .”

Charlie looks back up at him, ashamed, fully prepared to break down into tears at the slightest thing, afraid of what is going to set her off. Cid lowers his hands back to his sides, brave enough to speak the truth, too much of a coward to even touch her. 

“Do you want to know why I really came back here?” she asks quietly, hoping that any eavesdroppers have closed their windows again or gone indoors. 

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah.”

Charlie blushes. It’s not often that she speaks so plainly of her feelings to Reeve. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him, but the idea of projecting the image of her as some broken little girl to him is not the most appealing thing in the world. 

“I feel like, ever since the day of the launch . . . ever since I left . . . sometimes I just feel like a machine, a cog in my _father’s_ machine.” She pauses. It’s so easy to stand in front of six cameras and millions of people watching to give a speech, but why is this so hard? “I feel like I left a part of me behind here, and I’ve never been able to get it back.”

Cid clears his throat, looking up to the nose of the rocket before glancing back at her. “You mean the rocket?”

She gives her head a slight shake. “No,” she says. “Not really.” Charlie shifts uncomfortably, accidentally kicking over an empty beer can in the process, watching it tumble over the side of the platform to fall slowly to the ground far below. “I never pretended to be anyone different around you, Cid. That version of me . . . that was the best version of myself anyone has ever seen. And I want to feel like that again. That’s why I came back here.”

“How did you feel?”

She smiles incredulously, at a loss. “Free,” she answers after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Free?”

Charlie nods, an embarrassed little smile on her face. “I think so.”

Cid thinks for a moment, stroking at his scratchy chin. If he’s still angry with her, he hides it well. If she knows anything about him, it’s that he can’t stay angry with her for very long, his hard exterior always crumbling the moment she smiles up at him, their argument forgotten. 

“Well . . .” he says, thinking hard. “Maybe you just gotta shake things up.”

“Shake things up?”

“Yeah. Do somethin’ that scares you.”

“Why would I do something like that?” Charlie asks.

“‘Cause it’ll make you feel good.” Cid shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “When was the last time somethin’ really scared you?”

The answer comes to her easily. “Well, there was a break-in at Headquarters a few years ago and I thought I was going to be cut down by some rogue Wutai soldiers. Thankfully, Tseng found me in time.”

Cid pauses, opening his mouth to answer, but closing it at the last minute, laughing to himself. “I didn’t mean like that,” he teases. “I meant, when was the last time you _did_ somethin’ that scared you?”

“Oh.” She thinks again. She had been scared to stand up with her father’s speech in hand and tell the people how she really felt. She had been scared to disappoint her father. She had been a coward, though, unable to go through with it. “Um . . . I was scared to go into the slums before, but I did, and I’m not anymore.”

“I don’t think that counts. Try again.”

“Okay.” Charlie really reaches for something to tell him this time, trying to think even harder. 

Not much frightens her, truthfully, and the most exciting and thrilling thing that’s happened to her over the past few years was the first time she had convinced Reeve to make love to her in his office. That had taken a lot of convincing. 

Cid snaps his fingers in front of Charlie’s face after she takes too long to respond. “Hey! You good?” Something must show in her face, because he’s quick to continue. “Hey, it’s all right. Not everyone’s a risk taker.”

“But I—” Charlie feels the lump forming in her throat, breathing slightly heavier. “I don’t want to be . . . I just want to be who I was before.”

“Look—” Cid puts his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, squeezing gently—“you’re just . . . you’re just gettin’ cold feet ‘bout your marriage, that’s all. It happened to my buddy, before he got married. He had some kinda breakdown two months beforehand and said he was gonna travel the world ‘cause he’d never see it again, but he never did it, and now he’s a drunk ‘cause of it.”

This doesn’t make Charlie feel better at all. “This has nothing to do with my marriage. This isn’t my pre-marriage crisis or whatever you think it is.”

Cid has the grace to look abashed, as if he knows that he’s spoken out of turn.

“I have the perfect life. Women want to be me, they want my fiancé. I have money and a powerful family name and a respectable career,” she confesses to herself, sighing. “Why can’t that be enough for me?”

“Everyone wants what they can’t have, Lottie.”

“Even you?”

He snorts. “Especially me.”

Charlie chews on her lower lip, wondering how much she could tell Cid. She wonders if there is anything that would scare him away now, if he would be understanding about her passing information to an eco-terrorist group, if he would listen to her complain about her tedious life.

“I want to be someone other than my father’s daughter,” she admits, surprised that it slips out of her so easily. She blames it on the beer Cid had been feeding her. “I want people to see me the way you did, all those years ago.”

He blushes handsomely, looking surprised at her confession. His hand jumps to the back of his neck, rubbing it uncomfortably and looking away. 

The both of them jump as Charlie’s phone begins to ring, tucked away in her jacket pocket. She pulls it out quickly, and doesn’t fail to notice Cid craning his neck to get a look at who’s calling her, but if he had been expecting Reeve (and that’s who Charlie had expected, as well), he’s wrong.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” she asks Cid, who nods impatiently. She turns her back on him, looking out amongst the dimly lit town of Rocket Town, the cityscape far less beautiful than that of Midgar’s at night. Charlie holds the phone up to her ear. “What do you want?”

“ _I expected a warmer hello,_ ” Reno laughs from the other line. “ _You’ll never guess where I am right now._ ”

Charlie scoffs, stunned into silence. “What are you talking about? I’m a bit busy. Is Rufus with you?”

“ _No, but Rude is. I’ll tell him you said hi._ ”

“Then why are you calling me? Is everyone all right?”

“ _You have to guess where I am._ ”

“I’m not playing games with you, Reno.” She glances over her shoulder to see Cid quickly avert his eyes, looking up at the stars. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me?”

“ _You’re no fun, Charlie. I’m in Sector Seven. Your boyfriend’s project is comin’ along nicely, by the way._ ”

Charlie closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to control her temper, wishing she could reach through the phone and wring Reno’s skinny little neck. “Is that seriously what you’re calling for?”

“ _Nah. We’re on recon duty, and as your_ friend—”

“Hurry it up.”

“ _Jeez, fine. Got some info that you might be interested in, and I’ll have you know, you’re the first person I called._ ”

Charlie gives Cid an apologetic look, holding up a finger to him. She considers climbing all the way back down to have some privacy, but it would take too long. Reno sounds rather smug on the other line, and she doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

“What happened?” she asks, a little gentler this time for fear that he’ll leave her hanging. It’s been known to happen before.

“ _Well, it happened like this. Rude and I were assigned to keep an eye out for anything strange in_ —”

“Is there any way that you could possibly speed this process up?” she snaps.

“ _Take it easy, Charlie, what’re you, on a date or something? I’m gettin’ there. So anyway, we’re keepin’ an eye on Seventh Heaven. You heard of it?_ ”

“Yes, of course.” The bartender of Seventh Heaven had always been relatively polite towards Charlie and Reeve, who typically use the bar as a public place to meet grounders with grievances, despite the rumors of the bar being Avalanche’s hideout. 

“ _You’ll never guess who just went in._ ”

“Who?”

“ _You want a hint? She’s a knock-out, solid nine, a ten if she had tits_ —”

“Reno, I don’t have time for this!”

“ _Fine! You’re suckin’ all the fun outta everything, Charlie!_ ” Reno grumbles and Charlie can hear Rude talking in the background, but can’t make out what he’s saying. “ _Your assistant just waltzed right into Seventh Heaven, and looks like she is_ awfully _familiar with the bartender._ ”

Charlie feels her heart stop momentarily. 

“ _Now, last I checked . . . that girl lives up in Sector Four, doesn’t she? Topside?_ _So you tell me what a pretty little topside girl is doing hangin’ round some terrorist hideout._ ”

Not wanting to give herself away, Charlie scoffs. “Why are you calling me, then, instead of Tseng? Or Rufus?”

“ _Thought I’d just check-in and see if there’s anything you wanna tell us, Charlie._ ”

“Is there something you’re interested in hearing me say?”

“ _Dunno, you tell me._ ”

“I have nothing to say, let alone to _you_.”

“ _That hurts, y’know. We’ve known each other a long time. If you got somethin’ to say, I’d say it’s a lot safer to tell me than anyone else._ ”

The last thing she wants is to finish this conversation in front of Cid. The last thing she wants is for Cid to see her as some ruthless businesswoman, no different than anyone else at Shinra Inc., but she doesn’t want Reno and Rude, of all people, to bring shady information to a superior about her own assistant. 

“Leave my assistant alone, you tool,” she hisses through the speaker, hoping that her point will be made without having to make it face to face. “Or I’ll tell Rufus you touched me, and he’ll beat you bloody.”

“ _That’s a low blow._ ”

“You know he will.”

“ _I know it. Hey, why’d you make your boyfriend fire his last assistant? I was trying to bang that broad, y’know_ —”

“Good- _bye_ , Reno.”

Charlie hangs up, allowing herself to breathe again. The information has certainly left her shaken, but she’s quite glad that it _had_ been Reno and Rude to discover this. Pia hasn’t been to Seventh Heaven in some time, she knows, the last time having been a year ago, when she had joined Charlie and Reeve in the slums to help them find employment opportunities for some of the grounders. 

Quickly, she sends Pia a message, hoping that nothing will be traced back to her. 

_Reno called. Turks watching. Be careful._

Pocketing her phone again, Charlie turns to Cid. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. “But I think I’ll have to leave town early.”

His expression of impatience immediately turns to one of concern. “Is everything okay back home?”

“It’s my assistant,” she tells him. “Don’t worry about it.” 

She smiles reassuringly at her, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. She’s suddenly acutely aware of the situation she’s in, having a cheap dinner and drinks with Cid, a world away from her fiancé, all in the hopes of feeling the stirrings of passion again. 

Charlie falters, looking around her. “Oh,” she moans, mentally kicking herself. “Cid, I should go.”

“What? No! Stay,” he pleads, moving closer as she takes a step back. “Where you goin’?”

“I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey—” His hands clamp down on her upper arms, keeping her still and facing him. “Don’t go yet. I ain’t seen you in so long. Keep talkin’.”

“Please don’t touch me.”

Cid releases her immediately, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re really gonna leave? Just like that?”

“In the morning,” she answers, so ashamed that she could cry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—”

“What?”

“I’m engaged,” she states plainly, touching the ring on her left hand in all of its glory, beautiful and expensive and exquisite. “And I love him very, _very_ much.”

“That’s what you think I’m doin’?” 

_Go on, run away,_ she tells herself. _You’re too much of a coward to do anything that scares you._ She had done the same thing the night before the launch, when Cid kissed her. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Cid’s face hardens, his chest swelling. “Yeah, wouldn’t be good PR for you to be seen sneakin’ away with someone like me, would it?”

Charlie can’t even argue against it. “I’m sorry.”

As she turns, lowering herself to the ground to hurry down the first of several ladders, Cid calls out, “Charlie.”

She pauses, one foot on a rung. “Yes?”

His tongue swipes along his lower lip. “If you leave right now,” he starts firmly, “please don’t come back.”

She won’t let him see her cry. She _won’t._ “I have to go.”

“Fine. Then go.”

And she does. 

* * *

Cid watches the little plane takeoff from the topmost platform, the moon guiding her way through the night. 

She said she’d wait until morning, which would have been plenty of time for him to catch her before she left. He could have brought flowers (does Charlie like flowers?) or maybe breakfast (everyone loves breakfast) and he would have made some half-assed apology about something he’s not really sorry about. 

Part of him worries, though. To see her leave so quickly after that phone call . . . he had expected it to be her fiancé, calling to make sure she wasn’t spending her free time with some washed up pilot. If something _did_ happen, would she tell him?

No, he thinks, likely not. Shinra, and those affiliated, love their little secrets. 

Not that it matters anymore. He won’t ever see her again. 

* * *

The low growl of his guard dog wakes him. 

He pushes himself onto an elbow, running his free hand through his hair. He listens for a moment, quieting his pup to hear for an intruder.

Dark Nation growls again at the sound of a door opening and closing slowly and softly from downstairs, towards the front of the house. Throwing the blankets off him, Rufus gets carefully to his feet, opening the drawer of his nightstand to withdraw a handgun. 

Creeping quietly to the top of the stairs, he catches sight of a light on in the living room, yellow light spilling over the threshold. He isn’t able to see who’s inside the room, but Dark Nation goes on ahead, bounding down the stairs with his thick tail waving clumsily from side to side, turning the corner to enter the living room, growling louder, until—

“Shh! Dark Nation, be quiet! It’s me!”

Rufus scoffs, lowering his gun and hurrying down the last few steps. “Charlie?”

Charlie runs to him within seconds, Dark Nation right on her heels. “Rufus!” 

He grunts as she throws herself at him, burying her face into his bare chest. Wrapping his left arm around her, holding the gun away from her with his right hand, he gives her a moment to cry. His left hand sneaks up her back, cradling the nape of her neck. “I thought you were supposed to be in Rocket Town. What are you doing? Did you fly here yourself?”

“I’m done with Rocket Town,” she cries, looking up into his face. “I want to stay here for the rest of the week.”

Rufus smiles down at his sister. “Of course.”

Though she refuses to tell him what had made her cry so much (he’s certain it has something to do with that foul-mouthed pilot, and has every intention of crushing him the moment Charlie gives him the go-ahead), Rufus doesn't press her. She’s come _here_ instead of back to Midgar with Reeve, and her feet are in his lap as she sleeps soundly on the sofa, the flickering blue-white light of the television illuminating her face. 

At some point, very late into the night, Rufus stands up to return to bed, covering his sister with a blanket kissing her temple. “Stay with her,” he instructs his mutated guard hound. 

He’s reminded, briefly (the sound of the crashing sea filtering in through the open window, just like it did all those years ago), of his boyhood, a vivid memory of Charlie sneaking into his bedroom, the muffled voices of their parents echoing throughout the house, her eyes red from crying. 

Charlie always sought comfort from him, but Rufus has to confess that she had brought _him_ comfort, as well. Their mother had always been too busy doting on Charlie, and their father wouldn’t have been caught dead hugging his children. To feel his sister’s skinny little arms around him was the greatest source of comfort there was.

Father hadn’t liked that, their sharing a bed so late into adolescence, and neither had their mother. It had always been his fault, according to Mother. It had been his fault Charlie kept slipping into his bed, as if Charlie couldn’t possibly love him, as if he must have tricked her. 

It hadn't all been innocent, to be sure, but Mother always brought Charlie back to the proper bed in the end, always leaving Rufus cold and alone. 


	12. Chapter 12

“ _Lettie . . . Lettie, wake up._ ”

“ _Mama?_ ”

A dark bruise on her cheek, her left eye swelling rapidly, even through the darkness. “ _Shush, Lettie. You don’t want to wake your father. Pack your things._ ”

“ _Are we going on vacation?_ ”

A shaky voice, whispering, the clock face showing the dead of night. “ _Yes, Lettie. A vacation, my love. Pack your things now, and quickly._ ”

“ _Is Rufus coming with us?_ ”

“ _Not this time, my love, not this time. Pack your things, darling._ ”

In her state of limbo, memories come swirling back to haunt her in the form of dreams. The image of her beautiful mother, adorned with purple and yellow bruises, mouth always drawn tight, eyes always sad. Father loved her once. 

“ _I don’t want to leave without Rufus!_ ”

“ _Come, Lettie, you’ll see your brother again._ ”

Tears stinging her little girl eyes, burning, painful, heart aching. “ _No!_ _I don’t want to go without Rufus!_ ”

Desperate pleading from her mother, frightened and crying. “ _Hush, Charlotte! You’ll wake your father!_ ”

“ _I don’t care! I don’t want to go!_ ”

Charlie moans softly, rolling over on the firm sofa, where once they sat as a family, she in her father’s lap and Rufus between their parents. She had fallen asleep against his chest, and her father had carried her up to bed. 

“ _You’re not taking my daughter! I won’t allow it!_ ”

The sound of flesh against flesh, hard contact, hard enough to bruise. Rufus clinging to her, the both of them shaking, only children, hiding underneath the blankets, never intending to part. 

“ _I will not let that girl be condemned to a life in the slums, goddamnit!_ _She’s a Shinra!_ _She’s my daughter!_ ”

Child hands keeping her safe, keeping her warm. A whispered promise uttered from the mouth of her little brother against her ear, smooth fingers brushing away the tears budding at the corners of her eyes. “ _I won’t let her take you._ _I won’t let you go to the slums._ ”

Her hero, the only boy who ever protected her when she was little, who would kill for her now, who would hurt or maim or threaten anyone who touched her. 

“ _Good-bye, Lettie._ ”

“ _Don’t go, mama_.”

“ _I have to go, my Lettie. I have to go . . . I love you so much . . ._ ”

The rumbling of a big-wheeled truck, her sobbing mother sitting in the bed amongst her few things. “ _Mama! Mama! Don’t go!_ ”

The feeling of a hand in hers, squeezing tight, soft little fingers, a thumb caressing the smooth skin of her own hand, keeping her from running away through the gates of their home. 

“ _Don’t cry, Char. You’re better off with us, anyway._ ”

“ _Charlie!_ ”

Her eyes snap open. Rufus’s fingers are curled around her upper arm, shaking her awake. Charlie pushes herself up onto the arm of the sofa, breathing heavily. The memories are already fading fast. 

She exhales a shaky breath, Rufus’s grip tightening before he releases her completely. “You were talking in your sleep,” he tells her, Dark Nation at his side, the thick appendage protruding from his bulky neck waving back and forth, slowly, as if underwater. “You were dreaming about Mother, weren’t you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, getting back to his feet, already dressed and ready for the day’s newest adventure. “Go get cleaned up. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

Charlie groans, rolling over to put her back to him. “I’m tired, Rufus. I have to fly back to Midgar today.”

“I thought you were staying the rest of the week.” Rufus grits his teeth. “Does Reeve know you’re here?”

“Only you.”

* * *

“Good morning, Director. Is there something I can help you with?”

Pia smiles brightly at him, thin eyebrows raised high. She’s a cute little thing, young and soft-spoken, with insolence written all over her face, despite the polite way she speaks to others. He knows Charlie is rather attached to her, despite his fiancée’s scorn towards other women who show any sign of objective outward beauty. 

There’s no denying it’s odd that Charlie has kept her around for so long, considering she’s always telling _him_ to get rid of assistants the moment they show interest in him, which isn’t as often as it may seem, but through Charlie’s eyes, even polite conversation seems to indicate some sort of infatuation. 

Reeve shifts uncomfortably, wondering how much Charlie tells her assistant. “I was wondering if you had heard from Charlotte,” he begins, sitting down in one of the leather chairs in the small nook leading to Charlie’s office. “She didn’t call last night, and I was unable to get through to her this morning.”

“Don’t worry, Director,” Pia answers gently. “Miss Shinra reached out late last night when she arrived safely in Costa del Sol.”

His entire body tenses. “Costa del Sol?”

“Oh,” Pia gasps quietly, placing a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you weren’t made aware.” She lowers her hand, smiling again, almost knowingly. “It was a very last minute and spontaneous decision. I’m sure she’s still sleeping. Is there anything else I can do for you, Director?”

If he didn’t know any better, he might think she’s pushing him out. “No, thank you,” he answers her gruffly, standing up, adjusting his tie, and making back for the elevator. 

_Costa del Sol?_

What in the world would drive her from Rocket Town to Costa del Sol so late at night?

Part of him feels he already knows. He’s sure it has something to do with that overstepping and careless cowboy, having probably done something to offend her. But even the thought of Charlie seeing that rough-necked pilot is nothing to the idea of her running back into her brother’s arms for comfort. 

Charlie never wants to listen to him go on at length about Rufus. She doesn’t ever want to hear _anything_ that could taint her vision of Rufus, her vision of him as a paragon of all that is good, of all that is righteous. 

She doesn’t want to hear that Rufus is a leech, a parasite, clinging onto his older sister in the most possessive and jealous way, buying her love and affection through expensive gifts and jewelry, showering her with things beyond Reeve’s own price tag (the ring alone had set him further back than he would have liked, but he needed Charlie’s _father_ to approve of it, as well). All of it is done in the name of _love,_ under the guise of caring for his sister and keeping away those who don’t deserve her. 

It had been . . . _difficult_ , he supposes. If Charlotte hadn’t loved him so much, he might not have bothered at all. While President Shinra had been easy to appease, needing only a few promises about a future marriage and grandchildren, Rufus had been much harder. Nothing ever seemed to please the vice president, and no man that came within a mile of Charlie was ever good enough for her in Rufus’s eyes. 

Reeve had endured the insults, passive and to his face, had endured the resentment and jealousy and waves of rage that would possess Rufus from time to time (maybe Charlie isn’t so different from her brother). He's sure he’ll be forced to endure it his entire life, certain that Rufus will have one last ditch effort to break them apart even on their wedding day. 

He calls six times, staggered over a ten minute period. The last thing he needs is for Charlie to come back spewing praise of Rufus, if he even allows her to return this time. No doubt she would be locked away in that beach house if it were up to her brother.

Finally, on the seventh call after the third ring, someone answers her phone, but it’s not Charlie. 

“ _How many missed phone calls does it take for a certified genius to take a hint?_ ”

“Sir,” Reeve utters, scowling to no one in particular. He stands before the windows in his office, overlooking the sector below him in all of its smog-tinted glory. “I need to speak to Charlotte.”

“ _She’s currently indisposed, but I can take a message for you,_ ” Rufus replies, sounding bored on the other end. “ _I’ll be sure to tell her the moment she’s available again._ ”

He's no fool. Maybe someone bolder, someone more courageous, might dig into Rufus, in his current situation. “Have her call me when she can,” he sighs, smoothing his hair back out of his eyes. 

“ _No need,_ ” Rufus says. “ _I’ve just thought of a wonderful idea._ ”

“You’ll send her home?”

“ _Nonsense. I thought we could all have dinner tonight. You’re not too terribly busy to take a brief vacation, are you?_ ”

“I am,” Reeve answers, growing severely frustrated. “I can’t make it to dinner. I don’t have the time to fly to Costa del Sol.”

“ _A shame. I’m taking Charlie to her favorite restaurant._ _She could really use it, I think, especially considering the entrance she made last night, crying up a storm._ ”

Charlie, crying up a storm? Over what? What had Rocket Town done to her? What had that _pilot_ done to her? Why hadn’t he snuck Cait Sith aboard her plane? Why hadn’t he insisted someone go with her, a Turk or a SOLDIER or a few security guards? Why had he let her go by herself? “I can’t tonight,” he repeats.

“ _I’m not asking anymore.”_ Rufus’s voice is cold and low. “ _I’ll call in to have a plane readied for your departure in_ —” He pauses for a moment, and Reeve can feel his chest contracting, a cold and steel trap around his heart to know that Charlie is with this man whose sole ambition in life is to spite everyone around him—“ _let’s say two hours. That should be plenty of time for you to arrive and get settled._ ”

He really, _really_ doesn’t want to fly all the way to Costa del Sol just to fly all the way back after a painfully awkward dinner with Charlie and her brother. He hates flying to begin with, especially in those little planes that Charlie is so fond of, and he’ll have to reschedule three important meetings to make it there on time, not that Rufus cares about any of that. 

It’s a challenge—it’s always a challenge to the vice president. Reeve already knows what will happen if he agrees (does he even have a choice anymore?). He’ll show up in Costa del Sol to be forced to bear witness to Rufus trying his hardest to win Charlie over, trying to make her smile and laugh and blush. He doesn’t think there’s any worse feeling in the world, watching his fianceé’s brother attempt to sweep his fianceé off her feet.

In the end, he’s forced to agree to Rufus’s request, wondering what’s keeping Charlie away from her phone for so long. 

Why hadn’t she called? Why hadn’t she at least sent him a quick message indicating her desire to leave Rocket Town early? What happened to her that she was hesitant to tell him?

Or perhaps he’s overthinking the entire thing. 

One meeting he’s able to configure via e-mail, one meeting is done within thirty minutes after several apologies to his staff about being called away for an emergency, and the third meeting needs to be rescheduled, but his new assistant has a hard time working it out in the computer with her severe lack of training, so Reeve has to recommend her to Pia for help before he loses his mind. 

Thankfully, Pia is patient enough, going through the motions with his new assistant, and taking over so he’s able to sneak away. 

* * *

Rufus doesn’t remember much about his mother. 

He remembers that she could be pretty when she wasn’t tinged with some ugly color, her face swollen more often than not. He remembers that she could sing, but only because he used to listen at Charlie’s door when their mother sang for their daughter. He remembers that she loved to look through her telescope, showing Charlie all the different constellations, and he remembers hanging out his window to see what kinds of pictures _he_ could see amongst the bright and flickering stars. 

And he remembers one of their last real interactions, days before Mother left them on the back of a truck, waving tearfully at her children. 

He had been wondering why he couldn’t go to the same school as Charlie, and his mother had shushed him, saying, “ _Quiet, Rufus, your sister’s a genius!_ ”

Mother always did love Charlie best, always having high hopes for her daughter, always pushing her daughter to be the best, to be the smartest, to work hard at the cost of a social life, all while Father had been grooming Rufus to run the company, insisting that Charlie’s talents were misplaced. 

He sets Charlie’s phone down, still able to hear the slapping of water against the shower tiles from above his head.

Dinner with his future brother-in-law will certainly be something new, something to change up the dull lifestyle he’s developed here. If anything, it will be a chance for Rufus to show Reeve how his sister _ought_ to be treated. He even considers calling up that girl from the bar he’d met weeks ago and has been avoiding ever since. She might be fun to have along with the three of them, and if anything, she would serve to make Charlie jealous, despite the glaringly obvious difference in their outward appearances.

“What are you doing with my phone?”

Rufus turns, looking over his shoulder. Charlie’s coming down the stairs in a short little dress that doesn’t look at all like one _he’s_ ever gotten for her. Her legs are toned, athletic, not at all the skinny little things she used to have as a child, slightly knock-kneed to contrast with their father’s bow-legged stance. 

Her hair is still wet and unbrushed, pushed out of her face and knotted at the ends, and she’s not wearing any jewelry or makeup. She approaches him, feet leaving behind a small amount of water on the hardwood floors of the house, holding out her hand expectantly as Rufus cradles her phone to his chest. 

He smiles politely, dropping it into her outstretched hand, watching her long fingers close around it. “Reeve called,” he says, watching Charlie lift her eyes again to give him an angry look. “I invited him to dinner.”

“I told you, Rufus, I have to go home today. And besides, he’s far too busy to—”

“He’s coming.”

Charlie blinks at him, looking rather surprised. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. He clearly respects my word.”

“I don’t believe you.” And with that, she stalks off, back up the stairs to continue getting ready. It always takes her so goddamn long to get ready, but the payoff is usually worth it. 

Charlie is a beautiful woman, and everyone always knew she would be. Whenever she would be seen with their father, everyone would comment on the beauty she would be in a few years, and of course President Shinra would take credit for it, for Charlie _did_ have the “Shinra look” to her, after all, and without it, she would be nothing. 

Security officers, administrative assistants, SOLDIER members, _Reeve_ . . . everyone loved Charlie, and everyone still does. Any fear they may feel in regards to Charlie is likely because they know what her father would do if anything were to happen to her (because despite everything, it’s obvious President Shinra is fond of her after all the good work she’s done for the company in the past few years), and they know that Rufus would stop at nothing to ensure his sister’s safety. 

She’ll make a fine vice president, he decides. She’ll be wonderful at keeping up the morale of the people during such staggeringly strange times, she’ll be wonderful at reassuring the public of his own competence, reassuring them that Shinra Inc. will be better under him than it ever was under their father. 

Besides, people hardly hear her when she talks. He knows that most people see her face and tune out the words filtering from her mouth, wanting only to look at her. Most people forget that she’s supposed to be a genius, taking one look at her and deciding they know her already. 

When he hears the closing of Charlie’s bedroom door, Rufus retires to the living room, where Dark Nation still rests peacefully, his tail moving every so often. One of his dark eyes opens to watch Rufus maneuver into the room, sitting down on the sofa where Charlie had slept last night. 

As fun as it is to toy with Reeve, to watch him squirm and shift and stutter after being asked some insolent question and attempting to force himself to remain calm and polite in the face of the vice president, Rufus knows that it will come to an end very shortly. In a few months, his sister will be married off to him, and their father will transfer whatever affection he has remaining for Rufus and bestow it upon Reeve, the son he never had, the son he _wished_ he had. 

Rufus isn’t stupid. He hasn’t failed to take notice of the change in his father. If he didn’t know any better, he might think Father was grooming _Reeve_ to take over the company, and that thought doesn’t sit well with Rufus. 

Charlie and Reeve would be a popular choice among the people to run the company, of course, but Rufus knows better. They would run it into the ground completely, giving things away instead of raising pricing, using their charm and good looks and genius and charisma and kindness to get what they need instead of using fear or money to dominate the people of Midgar.

He refuses to hand his power, his title, his future over to anyone, especially Reeve. He refuses to submit after all the years spent at his father’s side, listening in on meetings and ordering people three times his age around. 

He’s going to have to do something about his father before this goes too far. 

* * *

When he finally lands in Costa del Sol, his stomach is churning so badly that he isn’t certain he’ll be able to stomach dinner. 

Charlie and Rufus are already waiting at the bar of the designated restaurant, their heads together, deep in conversation. She’s wearing a handsome dress that shows off her legs, the back of her dress plunging to reveal more skin that he likes in front of her brother (of all the people in the world, why does _he_ have to be her brother). 

Rufus laughs at something (a strange sight), his smile the same as his sister’s, though Reeve can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Rufus _genuinely_ smile. A pale, spidery hand comes up to rest lightly on the small of Charlie’s exposed back, in a casual way that he deeply mislikes. 

Charlie looks over her shoulder and spots him before he’s halfway to the bar. Her face lights up at the very sight of him, and she breaks away from Rufus to meet him, running towards him and jumping into his open arms, kissing his face all over with not a care in the world as to who may be watching. 

“I missed you,” she breathes, kissing him on the cheek again as he sets her back on her feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t call last night. I guess I missed the beach too much.” She must see something in his face, because she immediately looks apologetic. “I’m sorry about this. I meant to come home this afternoon.”

Despite his obvious frustration, Reeve smiles down at her, his heart softening upon hearing her speak to him again, this time not through the phone. “The moment we get home, I’m locking you up.”

“Stop it,” she teases, laughing sweetly and giving his chest a playful swat. “You’re starting to sound like Rufus.” Wrapping her arms around his waist, she sighs happily, looking at him for a long time. “Did you miss me?”

“Terribly.”

“Did you think of me?”

“Every minute.”

Looking at her now, he finds it hard to believe what Rufus had told him only this morning. Charlie has always been good at masking her feelings, but she hardly seems changed, hardly seems as if, just last night, she had come here crying. There’s a bright and playful smile on her face, and she seems glad to be here, despite her apology.

There’s so much he wants to ask her, but it will just have to wait until they’re on their way home, and that’s only if Charlie feels like talking about it. If she doesn’t, Reeve might never hear about it at all. 

He can certainly see why this place is Charlie’s favorite. It never seems to get cold in Costa del Sol, so there’s available dining on the balcony year round. The breeze off the water is nice, and the setting sun reflects off the water and casts them into the pink and orange shadow.

But the air is too salty, he’s tired of seeing everyone dressed in skimpy swimsuits, too many heads are turned at the sight of both Rufus and Charlie, and it’s too hot. He prefers the relatively temperate climate of Midgar, the artificial warmth due to the reactors, the lights of the city at night from the wide bedroom window in their apartment, the lack of sand. 

Gods, he hates sand. 

Charlie loves it here, he knows. She’s spent much of her life within the beach house that dominates the other, smaller buildings that surround it, and it’s no surprise to him that she has developed a certain fondness for the tourist town. And, the few times he has visited for a day or so with her, it had been nice to watch her lie back in a small swimsuit to let the sun touch her flesh, oblivious to the other men around her, gawking and whispering behind their hands. 

Reeve watches them carefully throughout dinner, hating himself for the jealous way his chest tightens. Charlie clearly enjoys her brother’s company, and Rufus goes on to detail all the little gifts he’d accumulated for Charlie, including a new necklace (exquisite in the sunlight, the diamond perfectly posed upon the divet between her collarbones, as white as her skin). 

Rufus touches her so casually, refills her wine glass, orders food for her instead of asking what she wants. Charlie doesn’t even seem to mind, but her foot bumps into his own underneath the table every so often, and when Reeve looks up to meet her eyes, it’s to find her smiling shyly at him from across the table, a dreamy look in her eyes that is conspicuously absent when she looks at Rufus. 

Even when Rufus talks into her ear, Charlie has her left hand covering her smile and showing off her ring, kicking at Reeve’s foot in a childish way that’s endearing. He can’t help but smile back at her, wondering how she might look the day of their wedding when he peels back her veil to see him smiling up at her, his Charlotte. 

But she isn’t the only one looking at him. Charlie and Rufus sit closer to each other than Reeve thinks is really necessary, and whenever Rufus’s fingers touch the upper part of her back, or whenever he takes hold of Charlie’s hand, his pale eyes fix right on Reeve’s face, as if waiting for him to stand up and say something, waiting for him to stand up and say _stop!_

By the time dessert is brought out to them, much to Charlie’s pleasure, Reeve finds himself checking his watch every minute or so, leg bouncing beneath the table impatiently. If they don’t leave here soon, it will be too late by the time they get back, and with the day he has ahead of him tomorrow, he needs all the sleep he can get. 

“Charlotte, we should be getting back soon. It’s getting late, and we have a long flight ahead of us.”

Charlie smiles at him, chewing on the straw stuck in her drink. “Okay,” she answers coyly, as if it makes no matter whether she stays here or not. Turning to her brother, she adds, “Rufus, are you going to pay for my dinner?”

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” he snaps, shooting Reeve a cold and accusing stare. “Surely you can stay the night. I think the company will be more than fine if you’re a few hours late to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t press him, Rufus. _Some_ of us still work, you know,” Charlie tells him, and Reeve is glad that she’s said it instead of making _him_ say it. “Not all of us can sleep all day and drink up our stores of liquor.”

“You’ve been sneaking into my liquor cabinet, have you?”

“Please,” Charlie laughs. “Your passcode is my birthday. You don’t really expect to keep me out, do you?”

Rufus takes his sister’s hand in his own, bringing to his lips to kiss her knuckles. 

“No,” Reeve hears himself saying, setting his coffee down and making up his mind the moment Rufus’s lips touch Charlie’s beautiful skin. Rufus raises his eyebrows, waiting. “We’ll stay the night. Just tonight.”

Rufus falters, likely not having expected him to give in. However, within moments, there’s a smile on his face, and an even bigger smile on Charlie’s. 

“Oh, _really_?” she breathes, turning all of her attention away from her brother to lean forward towards Reeve. “You’ll stay? Really?”

Against his better judgement, he nods, taking Charlie’s hand across the table. 

She sighs, face flushed with drink, letting go of her brother. “I _do_ love you.”

* * *

The walls are thinner than they seem.

Rufus lies in bed, hands clasped behind his head, listening to them. 

There’s the high-pitched laughter of Charlie stifling a playful scream, followed by the loud shifting of the mattress, words spoken in low voices that he can’t quite make out, and finally the rattling of Charlie’s headboard, heavy panting like a bitch in heat, the carnal slapping of skin against skin, more laughter and soft moans.

Leave it to Charlie to treat their family beach house like a brothel, just as she had all those years ago, when he had opened up her bedroom door to find both his sister and Reeve naked as the day they were born, sleeping in her childhood bed together. He recalls the rage he had felt upon walking in on that scene, wanting to rip Reeve from his sister’s bed by the hair and send the bastard to the Turks to answer for his crimes. 

She may not see it as a slight, whoring herself out to their father’s employee in their father’s old beach house in the bedroom on the other side of the wall, but he’s certain that Reeve intended it _very_ much as a slight. Rufus had had his fun at dinner, and now he’s paying for it dearly, forced to listen to his sister respond more positively to someone else’s touch, to someone else’s love.

And then—“Stop!”

Rufus sits up immediately, prepared to burst into her bedroom with his gun drawn, but Charlie only laughs again, and Reeve murmurs something that makes her laugh louder. It’s strange to hear Reeve laughing, something that Rufus thought, for a long time, he was unable to do, but Charlie has always been able to draw out a side of him that others haven’t.

“Stop it!” Charlie giggles once more, her voice a bit louder, slightly breathless. “. . . being _goofy_.”

“. . . not being goofy . . .” Reeve answers, kissing her. Gods, they’re loud kissers. Everything they do is loud. “. . . love when you . . .”

“. . . talk too much . . .”

“. . . can help with that . . .”

Rufus scowls to the dark ceiling, scowling. He has to leave now, before he hears something _really_ unsavory, before he’s forced to hear Reeve proclaim his love loudly for Charlie after she does something particularly filthy to him. 

_His_ sister, being _used_ by that soft-hearted bastard. It’s not the first time he’s thought it, and it certainly won’t be the last, but there’s no denying the bad taste in his mouth that the idea leaves behind. 

Just this morning, she had been asleep on the sofa, dreaming of their mother. And now, in bed with Reeve, letting him put his bastard hands all over her, letting him put other bastard appendages _inside_ of her. 

He pictures a little boy running around the beach house, a little boy with blond hair and pale eyes, precocious and gifted, a good-hearted boy lacking the Shinra name while retaining the Shinra look. A little boy with his hair parted off to one side and slicked down, a pointed nose and a father that’s involved and anything but distant and resentful. 

He drags the backs of his fingers lightly over his guard dog’s hairless back. 

He wants to go home for good, to take up the mantle and run the company, to spend time with the closest things he has to friends. He wants to take Charlie out to eat, wants to bring her to the stupid theater, wants to escape the suffocating presence that are the girls that work at the tacky gift shop, always dogging his every move the second he leaves the beach house. 

The loneliness is killing him, and the house is too big, and he’s spent years alone, lying on the warm sand, dreaming about the days when he and Charlie were only children, and all they needed was each other. 

One day, Rufus thinks, it could be like that again.

One day.

* * *

Charlotte sleeps so softly. 

He brushes the backs of his fingers against her cheekbone, murmuring an apology when she stirs, humming quietly. 

It was here, in this very room, that everything really began. He had kissed her ( _she_ had kissed him) on the sofa, and carried her to the bedroom, the innocent twenty-two-year-old virgin daughter of President Shinra, who had just suffered a bruising defeat with her rocket launch and probably had never been kissed before in her life. 

It had been cathartic, beyond satisfaction, kissing her after years of watching her get caught up in whirlwind romances that were always prematurely put to rest by Rufus and his Turks, always meddling, always intervening. And once Charlie would lose her little boy toy, she would go running back to Reeve, allowing him to take her out on a few dates, holding his hand and making quiet suggestive comments, but he never was able to summon the courage to confess he loved her, to kiss her, to touch her. 

There had been a dark-haired, first-class SOLDIER once, who had caught Charlie’s attention, but Rufus has been very plain that his sister was off-limits. Reeve had seen them a few times making eyes at each other across the gym, and Charlie hung around the training center a little more often than usual, but after it became known that they had designs on each other, the SOLDIER had been sent to Wutai and never returned. 

After mourning her SOLDIER, Charlie had settled on a tall journalist who stuttered and blushed whenever she was within six feet of him, young and inexperienced and fired three months after starting, once it became clear Charlie was interested in him. Reeve doesn’t recall ever seeing his face again around Midgar after that, and far less tears had been shed over the journalist than she had cried for the SOLDIER. 

Reeve recalls there had been an engineer at one point, as well, but nothing had ever happened between them, for the engineer disappeared one day after flirting with Charlie in front of Rufus, and there had been an actor, as well, who brought her backstage after a play in Sector Eight. That had infuriated him so much that _he_ had _accidentally_ let this information slip in front of Reno, who immediately set to work in getting rid of him on Rufus’s behalf. 

And every so often, when they were younger, long before Charlie resented Reno because of his involvement in getting rid of any man she showed interest in, she would let him flirt casually with her, basking in the attention, soaking it up like the sun. He was always happy to oblige her request for affection and attention, in a playful sort of way that seemed to appeal to Charlie. 

However, if anything had happened between Charlie and Cid before the failed launch, it remains a mystery to Reeve. In the four and a half years since that day, Charlie has not spoken very much of Cid at all, and he’s too much of a coward to broach the subject, afraid of her reaction, afraid of her fury. 

For all of her crushes and failed and doomed romances, Reeve couldn’t help but worry about Cid. Nothing was ever done to cow him, as he was too important to the Space Exploration Department, and he and Charlie had developed an unnatural friendship that was different from anything else he had ever seen. 

The man had absolutely no respect for her, touching her in public and crossing boundaries that would get anyone else killed by Rufus and his friends. He was foul-mouthed and smelled of cigarettes all the time, always walking around the hangar in Junon with his shirt off when he worked on the Highwind, and Charlie had always been watching—discreetly, of course. 

Reeve kisses the corner of her mouth, smoothing her hair back with his palm. 

“Sleep,” she urges him quietly, not bothering to open her eyes. 

“Why did you come here, Charlotte?”

She scoffs sleepily, smiling. “I told you, I missed the beach too much.”

“It wasn’t anything to do with the pilot that still lives in Rocket Town?” he asks, and to his pleasure and great surprise, Charlie’s small and tired smile doesn’t fade. “Rufus said you arrived crying up a storm.”

Charlie shushes him, opening her eyes to look into his face. “Am I not allowed to cry, as a Shinra? You would, too, if you were me, if you saw your rocket again.”

“No, it’s only . . .” He hesitates, eyes scanning her face. She wouldn’t tell him the truth if her life depended on it. Nothing he’s ever done has encouraged her to speak of the history between her and the pilot. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I was sleeping so peacefully until a minute ago.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she tells him, closing her eyes again and placing a hand over his heart, scratching lightly at the skin there, sending chills down his spine. “Just close your eyes and sleep.”

Reeve buries his face in her neck, making her laugh. “Yes, Miss Shinra,” he teases, which makes her laugh again, this time louder. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she sighs happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and keeping him in place, the front of his body pressed against her own, long after she falls back asleep. 


	13. Chapter 13

“Oh, how shall I ever repay you for saving me from those horrible Wutai soldiers, my sweet knight?”

The boy, no older than ten, drops to one knee in front of Charlotte, placing the tip of his wooden sword in the dirt and bowing his head. “With a kiss, my lady,” he says quickly. 

Reeve smiles from his place at one of the outdoor dining tables as Charlie lifts her eyes to meet his gaze, hardly abashed. She kneels in front of the boy and touches either side of his round face, placing a tender kiss right on his forehead. 

“ _Oooooooooooh!_ ” comes the shrieking of a few little girls watching on, giggling behind their hands.

The boy’s face turns bright red, but he lifts his chin in the air proudly as Charlie gets back to her feet, surrounded by other children who had been defeated in a truly spectacular battle, now squirming and peeking through half-opened eyes to see if the boy really did receive his kiss. 

“You’ll be a SOLDIER one day, I just know it,” Charlie tells him, brushing some of his fringe from his eyes and picking up another wooden sword off the ground, pointing it at his chest. “First Class, if I had to guess.”

“I’ll be just like Sephiroth,” the boy says breathlessly, waving his sword in the air. “Did you ever meet him before?”

Charlie smiles coyly. “ _Maybe,_ ” she replies teasingly, prodding the boy gently in the chest with the tip of her toy sword. 

Reeve’s chest tightens. She certainly did spend more time around Sephiroth than he thought necessary, all those years ago, though it had been out of a desire to admire his friend more than anything. 

“Here’s your first test!” she shouts. “Show me what you got, SOLDIER, and I’ll tell you all about Sephiroth.”

Catching on quickly, the boy lifts his sword again, dancing around Charlie with childlike speed, their swords coming together again and again, clack-clack-clacking all the while. Reeve follows their duel, watching Charlie’s smile grow as the boy swipes low at her ankles, but she jumps over the sword and takes a few careful steps back, looking over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t going to step on any children that are still watching from the ground. 

Her face is flushed with excitement, her long braid whipping back and forth each time she turns her head, each time she leaps left or right to avoid getting smacked with a large block of wood. 

She doesn’t mind, and she’s never minded. For as long as he can remember, Charlie’s often come home from the orphanage with bruises and cuts all over her body, proof that she puts in just as much work with these children as she does with anything else.

So focused on Charlie’s apparent delight with parrying several different children’s swords at once, all of whom now want a piece of the action, Reeve hardly notices the tiny, curly-haired girl running towards him from the front doors of the orphanage, a stuffed moogle dangling from under her arm. 

Ms. Folia comes chasing after her, exasperated, her arms outstretched and calling her name over and over again, watching on with horror as the girl leaps forward and nearly knocks him over on his side, her moogle falling to the dusty ground, forgotten. 

“ _Megga!_ ” Ms. Folia shouts, not daring to approach him any closer than she stands now. Holding her hands out warily as Megga climbs upon his shoulders like a tiny monkey, small fingers threading through his hair to find a firm grip, Ms. Folia takes a single step closer, blushing heatedly. “Megga, you get off the director right now and apologize!”

“No, it’s all right,” Reeve assures her, reaching up to smooth his hair back down, catching Charlie’s eye across the yard as she cries out playfully, a wooden sword coming into contact with the side of her thigh while she isn’t paying attention. He winces at the ringing _crack!_ that follows, her skin very probably bruising quickly. “What are you doing up there? Where’s your rocket?”

She can’t possibly weigh more than forty pounds, sitting heavy on his shoulders, her hands on his forehead, pulling his head back to look up at her face, wide-eyed and grinning, as if it’s just a game to her. “Can I come to your wedding?” she asks, tumbling from his shoulders to fall awkwardly into his lap. “Can you ask Charlie if I can be the flower girl? Do you think she’ll buy me a dress?”

“Megga, _please_ —”

“It’s fine,” he says again, narrowing his eyes at Ms. Folia, who seems very loath to leave the scene so quickly. She glances over at Charlie, who’s still fending off wave after wave of attackers, shouting and grunting with each slash of her sword, being backed up towards the wall of the orphanage. “She’s all right, really.”

Megga wraps her arms tight around Reeve’s neck, watching Ms. Folia retreat reluctantly back into the home, passing by an open window to glance at them one last time. “You said you would play with me,” she says, frowning as her eyes trail down his face, touching his cheek so innocently and so boldly. He understands well why Charlie refuses to bring anyone else but him here. “Your beard is so scratchy. I don’t like it.”

This makes him smile. Charlie likes it. “Next time I’ll be sure to shave, just for you.” Charlie wouldn’t like that.

Megga shifts in his lap, glancing towards the window to watch for a moment. “Ms. Folia doesn’t like when Charlie comes to visit anymore,” she says, catching Reeve off guard. “She said Charlie gave a speech, but we weren’t allowed to watch. Will you tell me what she said?”

“I think I’ll leave that decision up to your housemothers,” he answers her, smiling to let her know it’s all right to continue asking as many questions as her heart desires. 

The girl thinks for a moment. “Do you _really_ work for Shinra?”

Reeve nods solemnly. “Yes.”

“Are you ever on TV like Charlie is?”

“No, she’s much more suited for that particular job, I think.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s prettier.”

Megga laughs after a moment. “She _is_ prettier than you. What do you do?”

“I take care of the city,” he replies, trying to make it sound much simpler than it really is. “When something breaks, my department fixes it.”

“Are you going to fix the Sector Six plate?”

Reeve clears his throat, feeling rather like he’s being interrogated under a spotlight. “Perhaps one day, when we have the budget to do so.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means . . . when we have the money to fix it.” He looks over at Charlie again, but she’s too invested in her roleplay to really notice him. Surely those children will bring her down soon enough, and she’ll be limping out here, breathless and happy despite all of her injuries. “Why doesn’t Ms. Folia like when Charlie visits?”

Megga shrugs, but he’s convinced she knows more than she’s letting on, even for a little girl her age. “Guess what I’m gonna be when I grow up big.”

“What?”

“An engineer, just like Charlie. I’m going to make a rocket ship. A big one, to take to space, just like hers.”

Reeve raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Have you told her that?”

“Yep,” she replies, popping the ‘p’. “She said she was gonna help me when I’m older. She said she’d take me shopping, too, above the plate. What’s it like on the plate?”

“Very busy,” he answers, not wanting to make her feel bad with visions of an exciting city center, theaters with blinking lights out front and grumbling cars rolling down the clean streets. 

“Do you live in a big house?”

“We live in an apartment.”

“Do you live up high?”

“On the topmost floor of our building.” Reeve looks at the girl curiously, her hair a tangle of brown, cut at her chin. “Megga, why doesn’t Ms. Folia like Charlie visiting?”

“I don’t know,” the girl says, frowning at him. She shifts again, her kneecaps digging into the tops of his thighs, and she clambers up his torso again until she’s sitting on his neck with both of her legs draped over his shoulders, the backs of her dirty and torn shoes tapping lightly against his ribs. “What did Charlie say in her speech? The older boys wanted to go join SOLDIER afterwards, and that made Biggs mad. Do you know Biggs?”

“No, I don’t.”

“He and Ms. Folia were arguing, and that’s when Ms. Folia said she didn’t want Charlie to come back anymore.”

With her arms around his neck, she leans forward to look at his profile, at ease climbing all over him. With a pang of longing in his empty heart, Reeve looks at Charlie again, who drops to her knees dramatically as one boy pretends to defeat her in combat, the SOLDIER boy. 

“What did Charlie say in her speech?”

“She promised to keep all the citizens of Midgar safe, especially all of you kids,” he tells Megga, hoping that’s sufficient enough. “Did your father fight in the war?”

“No, daddy worked in those big machines on the plate.”

He falters, lifting Megga off his shoulders to place her in his lap again, holding her steady as she squirms and giggles, ready to play. It’s frustrating trying to get information out of a girl that can hardly be older than five. “You mean the reactors?”

She hums, prying his hands off her shoulders to attempt to climb up to his shoulders again, but Reeve is stronger than a little girl, and he’s able to stop her before she steps on his chest. “That’s what Ms. Folia said. I don’t really remember. Will you play with me now?” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Once you tell me about your father.”

Megga looks defiant, much the same way Charlie looks when she doesn’t get her way. “Daddy had an accident in the machine—”

“The reactor?”

“I guess,” she confirms. “It made him sick.”

“What about your mother?”

“I don’t really remember. Aerith said she’s gone back to the Planet. Do you know Aerith? She’s real nice. Just like Charlie.” 

He forces himself to smile at her, shaking his head. “No, I don’t.”

Despite the sickness that fact makes Reeve feel, and despite not knowing anything about this woman that she’s just mentioned, Megga hardly seems bothered, already reaching for his neck again, reaching around to tug at the back of his hair in her attempt to clamber onto his back. “Can we play now, Mr. Director?”

“My name isn’t ‘Director’,” he laughs, despite the emptiness in his chest. “It’s Reeve.”

“Are you sure that’s your real name?”

“What else would it be?”

“I don’t know. It could be a nickname. Like ‘Charlie’. Didn’t anyone tell her that Charlie is a _boy's_ name?”

“Megga, go help the others set the table for dinner, please.” Ms. Folia comes walking back out of the orphanage, wiping her hands on her off-white apron, covered with dirt. Peeking around the corner of the building, she calls for the boys all surrounding Charlie on the ground, who moan and complain about chores. “Boys! Please! Don’t ignore me!”

“You’ll come back to visit us, won’t you?” Megga asks, giving him a pleading look that breaks his heart. “You didn’t even play with me this time, and you _promised_ last time.”

“We’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Tell Charlie I’ll miss her. Can you ask her if I can come to your wedding?”

“I will.”

As soon as the children are herded inside and their wooden weapons are put away, Ms. Folia calls Charlie and Reeve back as they gather their things. Charlie walks a little stiffly, but doesn’t complain, some of her hair falling out of her braid to frame her face, forehead glistening with sweat and dirt smeared across her cheeks. 

The housemother looks nervous beyond all comprehension, wringing thin hands in front of her and sweating. Charlie smiles, clearly oblivious to the tension, not knowing what Megga had told _him_. 

“Miss Shinra, Director . . . I . . .” Ms. Folia hesitates, looking away for a moment and exhaling loudly. “I know that I am not in a position to ask for favors from either of you.”

Charlie’s smile fades and her face softens. With a sleeve of her jacket, she wipes off her cheeks. “No, please, go on.”

A horrible feeling of dread washes over him as Ms. Folia continues, glancing his way only for a split second, as if more afraid of _him_ than of Charlie. “You must understand that these children are very taken with the both of you, especially Megga, and . . . at this age, they’re very impressionable.”

“Of course,” Charlie replies, smiling again. “We love seeing them. They’re such a joy.”

“That’s just it,” Ms. Folia says, sweating profusely now. “They aired your speech on the television in the center of town, and . . . some of the older boys snuck out to watch and listen.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, looking desperate. “Ever since seeing your speech, they’ve all become determined to join Shinra’s military, or SOLDIER, as soon as they can.”

Charlie laughs, but Ms. Folia doesn’t seem to find it at all funny. 

“Many of these children lost their parents to Shinra. Their parents were in the military and served in Wutai, or worked in reactors until succumbing to exhaustion and mako poisoning. Some of them were dismissed from the company and sent to live out the rest of their lives in the slums.” At the mention of reactors, Ms. Folia’s eyes rove over his face for a second or two. “You have done such wonderful things for these children, Miss Shinra, and we are all so grateful for your kindness, but I must . . . I must ask . . .”

Reeve fixes his gaze on Charlie, watching the comprehension dawn on her face. Anger constricts in his chest, anger on behalf of Charlie, who had been thrilled to be here only moments ago, and who now looks thoroughly depressed. 

“In light of your speech and the violent threats that were made, we have all come to the decision to . . . to ask if you’ll not return. We’ve caught wind of several threats already, from people who know that you’re familiar with the children, people against your father’s company who hope to draw you out into the open. The children look up to you, but I think that Shinra has done enough to them. I . . . hope you’ll pardon my bluntness, ma’am, but even if they are just rumors, we will not allow these children to find themselves unwitting victims in some attempt to reach you.”

When Charlie chooses to say nothing, Reeve does, standing up straight and leaning forward. “Excuse me,” he interrupts firmly, placing a hand in between Charlie’s shoulder blades and drawing her close. “Charlie has done—”

Charlie stops him, placing a hand on his chest. “No, I understand,” she whispers, forcing herself to smile politely. “It probably wouldn’t look good for you to have a Shinra lurking around here.”

Ms. Folia averts her eyes. She hasn’t made any mention of this man Biggs that Megga had brought to his attention, which seems odd. 

Clearing her throat, Charlie regains her cheerful composure, but it’s not enough to fool him. “Well, you’ll have to apologize to Megga for me. I won’t be able to take her topside after all.”

“We’re very grateful,” Ms. Folia repeats, and she sounds apologetic, but it does nothing to soothe the rage within him. “But I can’t allow these boys to grow up with dreams of being a SOLDIER, or fighting in a war that killed their parents, as well. They’ll only make themselves targets to resistance groups budding here in the slums.”

Reeve opens his mouth to speak again, prepared to explode, to remind Ms. Folia who’s funding this orphanage, to remind Ms. Folia who has brought them gifts and old jewelry and clothing, to remind Ms. Folia who has spent hours of her time handing out food that she personally paid for, to remind Ms. Folia who spent time sword fighting with them just a few minutes ago.

But Charlie stops him again, tapping his chest once more. “We understand,” Charlie says plainly. “Good-night, Ms. Folia. Thank you.”

He doesn’t speak until they’re out of sight of the orphanage. Charlie walks slowly through the crowded streets, keeping her head down, but of course people recognize her the moment she walks by. She doesn’t stop for anyone this time, smiling weakly at a few people and waving, eventually clutching onto his hand and lacing their fingers together, taking a shadier route towards the helicopter they came in, her eyes watery. 

“Charlie . . .”

“It’s fine,” she tells him, smiling up at him, her lips quivering slightly. “Don’t worry.”

“It’s not fine,” he protests, squeezing her hand as she pulls him down another alleyway that isn’t blocked by people. “Charlie, look at what you’ve done for them—”

“And look at what my father has done to their families, to their livelihoods, to their spirits,” Charlie counters, her lips pursed tightly. Her expression, something very sad to look upon, suddenly changes into one of disgust and contempt. “Gods, it stinks down here. Let’s go.”

Reeve sighs frustratedly, releasing her hand to take her by the shoulders, shoving her (as gently as he can) against the nearest wall, watching her eyes widen first in shock, and then in anger, and then her entire face softens, a playful little smile flitting across her face. 

“It doesn’t matter what your father has done unknowingly or knowingly to their families.” Thinking about what Megga had told him, about her father working in a reactor, in one of _his_ reactors, possibly being poisoned while just doing his job. He certainly wasn’t the only one. “Charlie, what happened to their families was not because of you. You shouldn’t allow people like that to treat you like you’re responsible for—”

“We’re complicit, Reeve, whether you want to admit it or not,” she hisses, nostrils flaring just like her brother during his own temper tantrums. “If my being there, if my being a Shinra, might put those children in danger, then I will not continue to come back. She has every right to ask that of me.”

“Blame Avalanche, then, or whatever the resistance cells are calling themselves,” he replies, giving her a slight shake, “for threatening an orphanage for associating with a Shinra . . . a Shinra who has done nothing but good things for them.”

“ _Blame_ Avalanche?” she scoffs. “I only recently gave a speech threatening to execute any known member of Avalanche and threatening anyone sympathetic to their cause. What would you do in their position? Wouldn’t you want to draw me out? Not that my father would pay very much ransom for me in the first place.” She scoffs, looking down at her fingernails. “I don’t think Avalanche has the gall to use children that way, anyway. Ms. Folia probably just doesn’t want me manipulating them into Shinra lackeys, dedicated to the cause. I know a lie when I hear one.”

He blinks at her, trying to think. Charlie has never been very vocal about the eco-terrorist group in the past, never choosing a side, always deciding to watch from the sidelines, coming to her own silent conclusions, and Reeve never doubted that the rumors regarding her passing information were false, but . . . 

“Charlie—” he begins again, giving her another shake, but she lashes out this time, eyes flashing bright.

“Get your hands off me,” Charlie snaps quietly, a command spoken to a subordinate. 

Reeve complies immediately, holding his hands up in the air in order to make certain there’s no confusion. “You don’t have a choice, Charlotte. We’re in too deep now.”

She smiles to herself, chest heaving with her back pressed against the grimy wall. “Says you.”

“Do you really believe your father, or any other executives, would let me just leave? You think I could just quit and walk right out the front doors knowing what I know?” he asks coldly, her smile infuriating and beautiful, mocking him. “I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“At least you could die knowing you were _good_.”

His jaw clenches tight and he takes a step back. “There are other ways to rebel, Charlie, from within the company. One day, you’re going to take things too far, and something terrible is going to happen because of it.”

“You sound like my father now.” Charlie doesn’t back down, and he should have known she would only grow angrier. “Now you’re going to tell me to grow up, aren’t you?”

It feels like there’s a knot in his throat. She can be a brat, and he’s always known that. He had first met her when she was only sixteen, and having been waited on hand and foot her entire life had clearly had its consequences. 

But he’s not going to just _say_ that. 

“What?” she asks again, harshly, cocking an eyebrow at him. Gods, he hates when she gets like this, just like Rufus, just like her father, goading him into anger, eventually smug when he refuses to give in. “Just say it, Reeve. Just say what you’re thinking.”

He works hard to keep his voice level. “Let’s just go home. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

Charlie looks almost disappointed. “Can’t you stand up for yourself?”

“Of course I can,” he retorts hotly, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “I was prepared to stand up for _you_ at the orphanage.” 

“I don’t care about that!” Charlie lowers her voice as a group of girls pass by, hardly noticing them. “I don’t care if you can stand up to some whore from the slums. I want you to stand up to _me_.”

“I’m not going to be needlessly cruel just so you can get off—” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, but Charlie seems pleased rather than offended. He drags a hand down his face. “What do you want me to do, Charlie? Do you want me to yell at you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you _yell_ in your life, let alone at _me_.”

He blushes again, furious with the way Charlie is so ready to pick him apart without hesitation. And the worst part is that she’s _enjoying_ it, sneering at him through the shadows. 

She fidgets against the wall, chewing on her bottom lip. There’s something childish about her movement, a child ready to move, to run around with their boundless energy. It’s equal parts endearing and frustrating, this part of her that hasn’t moved on from the launch, the launch from almost _five_ years ago. 

She’s too used to getting what she wants and, when refused something, will go straight to Rufus until he gives in and supplies it for her. For all of President Shinra’s disregard for his daughter, sometimes Reeve thinks Charlie’s father had gone _too_ far. 

She’s always been able to say what she wants to who she wants without consequence, and it shows, especially when she wants the upper hand in an argument with him, unafraid to hit someone where it hurts. 

She doesn’t take criticism well, always has to be right, always has to have the last word. She thinks she can do whatever she wants because her _father_ let her do whatever she wanted. 

But he’s not going to say anything like that just to satisfy her. 

“Let’s go home, Charlotte, please.”

She relaxes, reaching out for one of his hands. “Only because I’ll stink like the slums for weeks if I stay here any longer.” 

He pulls her off the wall, brushing the back of her jacket free of dirt before squeezing her hand, pulling her back towards the road. “I swear it, you’re never coming to the slums again without an entire personal army to protect you.”

“ _Please._ I’d rather a Turk.”

* * *

Charlie drags her fingertips lightly in a circle on his broad chest. 

She still seethes with rage, even hours after being asked to leave the orphanage. Reeve’s anger had gotten the better of him the moment the door of their apartment closed behind him, but whether he was angry with her or with Ms. Folia, Charlie can’t be certain. 

All she knows is that his anger had manifested through fingertips pressing a little too hard into her hips, teeth raking across her neck and collarbones, strong arms holding her in place as she allowed him to do what he wanted to relieve his frustrations. 

She should have known. It was only a matter of time. The boys always told her that the other housemothers were wary of Charlie’s being there, probably because they were afraid of Charlie spreading Shinra propaganda during her time with the children, manipulating them into young men who would die for her, who would die for the company.

But another part of her rages at Shinra Electric Power Company, rages that people fear the company so, rages that the company controls the people. 

What does Reeve know about silent rebellion? He doesn’t even know that Charlie has been passing vague and half-baked information to Avalanche since she hired Pia, but none of it has ever been enough. 

Her father might balk and curse and rage for a day or so over a leak of information, but none of the information Charlie has ever given the resistance has _done_ anything. None of it has ever made a difference. She’s not given important enough information to make a difference.

Her visits to the orphanage had been how she made a difference. She had passed out food in the slums, helped Reeve commit to providing better living conditions in the slums, played with lonely children until she was black and blue. She’s been generous and kind, compassionate.

It’s no one’s fault but Shinra’s that Charlie isn’t wanted there anymore. She refuses to blame Avalanche, refuses to blame any of the housemothers caring for the children, refuses to blame anyone but Shinra. Only her father’s company could inspire such fear in grounders.

_When was the last time you did something that scared you?_

Charlie closes her eyes. She can’t _really_ blame Reeve for being a little bit frightened of her father, or even her brother. Rufus has painted a target on his back for the sole crime of loving her, and President Shinra would certainly never let Reeve fall victim to Charlie’s little silent rebellion . . . the “humanitarian mission” her father believes her to be on. 

So she won’t tell him. It will be her secret, and hers alone. She refuses to bring him into the middle of any of this. 

* * *

Charlie looks up at the narrow, two-story house in front of her. 

Her heart is hammering against her chest, her pulse pounding in her ears. Looking around Sector Four, with the sun setting and the sky darkening, the streets are relatively empty, save for a few cars that drive back and forth, pulling into driveways and sputtering down side streets. 

Reeve won’t be home for at least a few more hours, plenty of time. 

She folds up the paper with a handwritten address on it, tucking it away in her jacket. She doesn’t really know why she chose to wear the jacket with the Shinra patch on the arm, but it gives her a queer form of strength, as if proclaiming to the world that she’s a Shinra, and should be treated kindly. 

Raising a hand to the door, Charlie knocks rapidly, three times in quick succession. 

The door opens quickly, and Charlie has to admit that it’s strange seeing Pia dressed down in casual clothes. She lets Charlie in with a smile, locking the front door, and Charlie touches the small of her back subtly again, making sure that nothing has happened to the handgun she’s tucked away, just in case she needs to make a quick getaway. 

“It’s not much,” Pia says, hardly embarrassed. She leads Charlie through a narrow foyer where shoes are kicked carelessly along the wall, and a few stock photographs are hung on either side of the hallway. 

In the living room, the television is on, but not loud enough for anyone to hear what the reporter is saying. Pia gestures towards the sofa, where Charlie takes a seat. 

_Whatever is said, regardless of whether or not you want to go through with whatever the plan is, you have to swear that nothing will leave my house._

Her hands shake. It’s a bad look for her, to be seen sweating and trembling on her assistant’s sofa. She touches the patch on her right arm, reminding herself who she is, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. A real Shinra would never be in this position, would never have—

“She’ll be here soon,” Pia says, and Charlie blinks at her, hardly hearing at all. “You’ve met Jessie before, haven’t you?”

Charlie nods. “A few times.”

Of course they had only met under the guise of being sat together at some stage play, typically _LOVELESS_ , the sensational and timeless classic (in Jessie’s own words, of course), not that Charlie needs reminding. She could probably recite the entirety of the play by now, having seen it so many times, having heard that SOLDIER recite passages to his friends while Charlie had watched them train. 

She and Jessie have never really actually spoken to each other at length, however, normally just exchanging information written down, notes tucked in pockets and murmured confirmations.

When Jessie finally does arrive, she’s thrilled. If she’s nervous about meeting privately with Charlotte Shinra, she does not show it at all. Charlie is able to compose herself, to look the part, standing up and smiling as Jessie as she struts into the living room, ponytail waving from side to side and a smile on her face.

They begin with small talk, and Charlie tells both Jessie and Pia about what happened at the orphanage a few days ago. 

“One of our guys does work for the orphanage,” Jessie explains, “and he was unhappy with Ms. Folia welcoming you so often. He’s only nervous. Besides, I heard that Megga has taken a _liking_ to you and your boyfriend.”

This doesn’t make Charlie feel any better, but she decides to say nothing further about the orphanage. “Tell me about the job.”

Pia nods encouragingly. “It’s okay, Jessie. You can trust her.”

Jessie smiles again, tracing her lower teeth with her tongue. “We’re going to target a reactor,” she begins, and Charlie can feel her heart leap into her throat. “I know what you’re thinking, but those reactors are killing the planet, and poisoning the people who work inside of them. They’re harmful, Miss Shinra, and you know it.”

“Taking out a reactor would mean an entire sector losing power for an unforeseeable amount of time. That’s the _only_ way we can give them power,” Charlie counters. This isn’t what she expected, this isn’t what she wanted. She doesn’t know what she really expected or wanted, but it scares her, so she doesn’t quite run away yet. “There has to be something else, something that won’t affect the livelihoods of thousands of people.”

Jessie raises her eyebrows, shrugging slightly. “No light but the sun lamps beneath the plate, and the grounders are surviving just fine.”

Charlie shakes her head, looking apologetically at Pia, who seems to understand her hesitance. “You realize I’m soon going to marry the man who designed those reactors, don’t you?” she asks, and while Pia doesn’t flinch, this seems to be brand new information to Jessie. “And you’re going to sit here and ask me to help take one out? Doesn’t seem like something a good wife would do.”

“They’re killing people,” Pia tells her gently, looking innocently at her from an armchair. “I know that was never the director’s intention, Miss Shinra, but it’s out of his hands now, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.”

Feeling very much like the best thing to do would be to walk out, Charlie decides to stay. “What do you need _me_ for, then?”

“Heard you’re something of a genius,” Jessie answers, fidgeting side to side, excitable. “Think you’d be able to draw up some plans for a bomb, Miss Engineer?”

Charlie’s heart flutters madly. _Is this scary enough for you, Cid?_ “A bomb?” 

“I’m not trying to take out the entire city,” Jessie says quickly, jumping from the sofa to her feet and swinging her arms back and forth, pacing from one side of the room to the other. “I can’t _believe_ I’m talking to Charlotte Shinra about making a bomb.”

“Just something to blow the core,” Pia continues, turning off the television when it shows President Shinra, a speech he had given a week ago. “To disable it. No one gets hurt, Shinra loses a reactor, and Avalanche sends a message.”

“And the people will be living in darkness for . . . how long?”

“I’m sure the Shinra Electric Power Company will be able to think of something else,” Jessie adds.

A few weeks ago, Charlie doesn’t quite think she would have the stomach for this. A few weeks ago, she might have stood up and called for Jessie’s arrest and immediate execution, if only to curry favor with her father and her father’s goons. The cold metal of the gun presses against her back. 

No one would ever have to know . . . she was the one who approached Pia, searching for something bigger to be a part of . . . she was the one who asked for this . . . 

“I can make a bomb,” Charlie utters, and both Pia and Jessie exchange excited looks. “A small one, to blow the core. I can give you the instructions and teach you how to do it, so long as you swear to me you won’t change anything. I don’t want anyone to die because of this.”

“It’s _your_ bomb. You can decide how big you want the explosion to be.” Jessie stops her pacing, standing a few feet away in front of Charlie. “But we’re going to need _one_ more tiny thing from you, as well, if we want this go as planned.”

“You’re not satisfied with a bomb?”

“ _More_ than satisfied, actually.” She crosses her arms over her armored chest, looking pleased with herself. “Why don’t we get started?”

It doesn’t feel right, nor does it feel _good_. She thought it might make her feel better, rebelling against her father in a much more extreme way, but it only makes her feel anxious, afraid of destroying something that’s Reeve’s, afraid of his reaction, afraid of his disappointment. 

Pia is able to supply Charlie with a pencil and paper, and she works through the process of building a small bomb with both her assistant and Jessie, who is a very active listener, and who seems to understand more than she lets on. It doesn’t take very long to go over everything, and once Jessie rolls up the instructions and tucks them away, Charlie is prepared to run from the house as fast as she can, to put as much distance between her and this bomb as possible before someone can attach her name to it. 

Before she’s able to leave, however, Jessie holds her back. “Wait a minute! I told you, we need one more thing from you,” she says, reaching out to take Charlie by the wrist. She flinches, jerking away from Jessie’s touch as if she’s been burned. “We won’t know where to find the core unless we know the layout of the reactor.”

Charlie scoffs loudly. “I can’t help you with that. I don’t have access to the plans. Sorry.”

“No,” comes Pia’s voice from behind her, and there’s a knowing smile on her face, “but I think you know someone who does.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Hello?”

“ _Director Tuesti, it’s Pia. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I have an urgent message from Mayor Domino for you._ ”

Reeve sighs, turning away from the blinding monitor to lean back in his desk chair with the phone held between his ear and his shoulder, the remnants of his half-eaten lunch still balanced precariously upon a pile of thick file folders. “What is it?”

“ _It’s about your latest project. He says it’s extremely urgent, sir, and you should meet him in his office_.”

“Tell him I'm very busy, Pia.”

“ _I said as much already, sir, but he seemed very persistent. It should only take a few minutes of your time._ ”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“ _In a very important meeting, Director. I’ll go with you, so I can report back to her afterwards_.”

“Surely you can take notes for the both of us. I really don’t have the time—”

“ _Please don’t make me tell him that, sir._ ”

Sighing very heavily again and rubbing his temples, he accepts defeat. “Fine, fine, very well, but only for a few minutes. I’ll meet you outside the archives.”

“ _Yes, Director, thank you._ ”

* * *

“I’ll only be a few minutes. Go wait for me in the conference room. Tell them something urgent has come up, but I won’t be long.”

“Yes, Director.”

Charlie hears the clicking of Reeve’s office door, his and his assistant’s footsteps carrying them towards the elevators. 

Heart racing, she peers around the corner to find an empty lobby, the assistant’s desk messy and disorganized, a desk lamp brightening her space. Charlie moves past it to his locked office door, quickly swiping her keycard and slipping inside without drawing any attention from other employees. It’s not like it’s incredibly suspicious for her to be slipping into Reeve’s office, of all people. 

She glances up at the camera positioned neatly in the top corner of the office, wondering if anyone is looking back at her. Pia had told her not to worry about the cameras, but failed to elaborate on it. 

Already she’s having doubts, second thoughts, wondering how she ever ended up in this position. But it’s too late for that. She’s already given Jessie the instructions on how to build a bomb, a bomb meant to destroy something that took Reeve years of hard work. It’s only one of them, though, and Charlie knows that Shinra Inc. has the means to rebuild. 

It’s about the message. It’s about rebelling. It’s about finding passion again, something to live for, something to give hope to the people. Isn’t that enough?

So why are her hands sweating? Why is she dizzy and nauseous and afraid to look at the pictures of she and Reeve on his desk and on the walls? Her breath comes fast, quick, and her heart won’t slow. Why is she doing this at all? Aren’t there other ways to rebel? Aren’t there other ways to disappoint her father?

No one will ever know what she did but for a handful of people, and her actions will cost her father’s company hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, of gil to resolve. All she wants is for someone to be held accountable, to accept responsibility for their actions, to show the people her father’s company in the light she sees it in. 

And yet, part of her is afraid to go through with it. Her father had spoken of making her vice president, even if it had been a lie. He had been proud of her after giving that speech, had allowed her to touch his hand without swatting her away. 

She wants it, her father’s approval. She wants it bad, but she knows the kind of person President Shinra is. He’s ruthless and pompous and a liar liar _liar_. He hadn’t even been a good father, always absent and distant, always leaving her behind with a Turk while Rufus had been brought along on business trips, leaving her to fend for herself and find affection within others slightly more generous with it. 

No more will she be used as a pawn, as a puppet, to recite empty promises on screen and to give false hope to the people through lies. She doesn’t want to be associated with her father, to be thought of as someone like him simply because of their relation. 

She wants people to see her as Cid does, as an individual with grand schemes of her own, with a desire to succeed on her own, to be bigger than Shinra Inc., to be loved by the people for her ability to stand up in the face of tyranny and martial rule.

And above all, maybe she just wants to be _good_.

Charlie kneels down in front of the massive filing cabinet behind Reeve’s desk. It’s easy enough to find the key, thrown into the topmost drawer of his desk. She unlocks the bottom of the filing cabinet, pulling out the drawer.

There are several large pieces of paper, rolled up and tied with string or ribbon or whatever he had been able to find at the time. She peeks at all of them, hesitating when she unrolls a piece of paper that she definitely recognizes, a piece of paper she hasn’t seen for a long time, the drawing they had done together when she was sixteen and hoping to rebuild the model airplane that crashed right into his chest.

Reeve hadn’t known the first thing about designing airplanes, of course, but she had walked him through it step-by-step, hardly able to focus on her work with how excited she was to be so close to him, to be able to smell his cologne, to be able to bump her shoulder against his, to be able to watch the way his hand moved so smoothly across the paper, to be alone with him, alone with someone she trusted completely, alone with someone who was kind to her. 

She had been in love with him from the very beginning, even when he would reject her advances, back when she was young. Even rejecting her, he had been sweet and kind and warm and apologetic, only making Charlie love him more. 

Of course, there had been others—if they could even be considered such. Charlie remembers a dark-haired SOLDIER that had caught her eye, but that had been an innocent romance with nothing set in stone, and once he went away to Wutai on some classified mission, he had never returned. 

There had been a handsome journalist, as well, but he had been sent away before anything could happen, and there had been an actor she thought was cute, but she never saw him again after the night he pulled her backstage to flirt with her. 

But she had always come back to Reeve in the end. 

He would never turn her away, not even when he was seeing that slum girl. Charlie had doubted the girl even existed until Reeve’s mother had let it slip once over dinner. His mother had been doting over Charlie, of course, and had accidentally mentioned how similar she looked to Reeve’s new girlfriend, to which he had immediately clarified that the girl in question _definitely_ wasn’t his girlfriend. 

That had broken her heart, having still been mourning the recent disappearance of her SOLDIER, but the very next day, Reeve had mentioned a little too casually that whatever was happening between him and that slum girl had come to a clean end. 

He had asked her out that very night, Charlie recalls, to a play in downtown Sector Eight. 

They had gone out together before, seen plays together many times before, but that night had been different. That was the night he held her hand on the way home, as they were sitting in the back of a private car and looking out separate windows. She still remembers the way he had dragged the pad of his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand, and the way he had smiled at her so shyly. 

How could she do this to him? How could she betray his trust now, after all he’s done for her? He’s never raised a hand to her, has never berated her, has never spoken down to her—has only ever cared for her since their first meeting nearly ten years ago. 

_He sabotaged your department when he knew what it meant to you,_ she thinks, _and then he lied about it._

Charlie stuffs the original drawing away, picking up something and unrolling it. It’s exactly what she’s looking for, the plans to the Sector One reactor. Flattening it on his desk, she pulls her phone out, taking as many pictures as she can, trying to make sure that everything is clear and visible. 

Her phone _pings!_ , warning her of Reeve’s return, and Charlie almost faints, rolling everything up and struggling to stick the key in the lock to lock it once more, throwing it half-hazardly into the drawer and slamming it shut, mere seconds before the door swings open. 

Reeve makes a surprised little sound at the sight of her standing by his desk. “Charlie! I thought you were in a meeting.”

“Just got out, actually.”

“I hope it was more engaging than the _urgent_ meeting I was just called into by your assistant with the mayor,” he grumbles, moving closer to her. “He just wasted nearly fifteen minutes of my precious time.” Reeve looks around, as if expecting something to be out of place. He narrows his eyes at her, almost knowing. “What are you doing here?”

Charlie smiles sweetly at him. “Hoping you can spare another fifteen minutes?” The adrenaline is still surging through her, and she probably looks rather harassed. “Or less? It’s really up to you. I would even be all right with more than fifteen minutes.”

“A very tempting offer,” he chuckles, rubbing at his chin. “But I’m afraid I have to be at a _real_ meeting in about . . .” Reeve holds his watch up, groaning. “Twenty minutes ago.”

“They can wait,” she insists, already reaching out to untuck his shirt. “You’re the director. They can wait as long as it takes, and I can make this very, _very_ quick, if you’d like. Or not. Like I said, it’s completely up to you.” Her hands are still shaking as she unbuckles his belt, meeting no resistance. 

“Charlie, I have to go,” he protests weakly, dragging a hand through her hair as she sinks to the ground. “Not here, my love—”

“Don’t worry,” Charlie whispers, smiling up at him. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy the sight of the president’s daughter on her knees. Besides, if they don’t want to watch,” she gestures with her head towards the camera, “they can look away.”

He smiles nervously, one hand still tangled in her hair as she looks up at him, tilting her head back and forth like a lost little puppy dog, an innocent little smile on her face. 

“Okay?” she asks, touching his thighs lightly. 

He gives in. He _always_ gives in. “Okay.”

When she leaves fifteen minutes later, lips swollen and her face flushed, she nearly runs straight into Scarlet, hardly paying attention to her surroundings. 

Charlie’s mouth tightens. “What are _you_ doing here?” 

“Relax,” Scarlet replies, holding up a file. “I’m here to have your boyfriend sign off on some paperwork.”

“Nope, that’s not right,” Charlie tells her, popping the ‘p’ and watching the other woman’s lips curl upwards, smug and malicious. It’s a familiar look. “We’re still engaged.”

“Is that still going on?” Scarlet laughs behind the file, lowering her voice. “Forgive me. None of us really thought he had it in him. Took him long enough, didn’t it?” She sighs, fanning herself with the paperwork, dress cut low to show off assets that Charlie doesn’t really have herself. “I suppose the opportunity to sleep with the president’s daughter was too good for him to pass up.”

Charlie doesn’t answer, still blocking the office door with her body. “Too good for an assistant?” she asks, glancing towards the heavy woman sitting at the previously unoccupied desk outside Reeve’s office. “Leave it with _her_. That’s what she’s there for.”

Scarlet doesn’t bother to reply, sighing heavily, standing nearly a head taller than Charlie, especially in her heels. “You look healthy, Char,” she notes, raising a single eyebrow, looking Charlie up and down. “Positively _ravished_.”

When Reeve steps out, stumbling over the backs of Charlie’s feet, he looks even more disheveled, his hair a mess and falling into his eyes, cheeks pink and eyes bright. 

“Director,” Scarlet says, but Reeve cuts her off.

“Leave it with my assistant,” he interrupts, smiling at Charlie before hurrying off. 

“By the way,” Scarlet says, as Charlie makes to follow him back to the elevator, to return to her own office. “I think your father is looking for you. He probably has another speech for you to give.”

Charlie waits for Scarlet to leave, finally giving the assistant the paperwork that needs signing. When she’s sure they’re alone, Charlie braces herself upon the assistant’s messy desk, knuckles white as she leans forward to place herself nose to nose with Reeve’s newest assistant, an older woman with square glasses and a faint mustache. 

“If you _ever_ let that woman near my fiancé, I will kill you, do you understand me?”

The woman blinks back at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

“ _Gotcha!_ ”

“No, you don’t.”

Reno reaches up to grab the arm that’s wrapped around his neck in an attempted chokehold, and in one smooth and swift motion, flips Charlie completely over his head so she lands with a grunt on her back, the blow cushioned by the leather sofa of the Turks’ base of operations, a large office in the center of Headquarters without windows, the walls adorned with blank screens and flickering lamps.

“I could have you killed for that, you know.” 

“Piss off, Charlie, I’m tryin’ to eat lunch. I only got thirty minutes, unlike you hot shots up on the top floors.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of watching me if you let me sneak up on you like that.”

“I heard you comin’ from a mile away. Your brain’s too loud,” Reno says, his cheeks full of food as he fusses with a dossier on the glass coffee table. “You’re not as stealthy as you think.” He glances up at her, a cheeky little grin on his sharply angled face. “Y’know, you put on _quite_ a show.”

“Meaning?”

He shrugs innocently. “It’s hard to believe that, of all the people in the city—the world, even— _he_ ’s the one able to bring you to your knees.”

Charlie blushes furiously, trying to keep her composure. “You didn’t have to watch.”

“You didn’t have to do that in his office. I’m assuming you _do_ have a home.”

She sits up on the sofa, watching him eat. It’s a horrible sight, to be fair, his mouth open when he chews, talking with food tucked in his cheeks like a rodent (what’s _really_ the difference between Reno and a rat?), stuffing his mouth as if he’ll never eat again. 

Charlie really doesn’t want to consider the Turks her friends, not in the sense that Rufus sees them, but it’s hard not to see them as such, harder to pretend they aren’t her family in some twisted way. She’s known most of them for a long time—or what’s left of them—and they’ve always taken care of her, have been a steady part of her life for as long as she can remember. 

Tseng has saved her from trouble more times than she can count, and Rude’s menacing air is always a welcome thing when she needs to go somewhere less than savory, but it seems Reno has only one job in regards to her, and it seems that job is to make her life equal parts frustrating and humiliating.

Nearly of an age with each other, Charlie can’t deny that she and Reno get on relatively well when he isn’t meddling in her romantic affairs, spying on her on behalf of Rufus, carrying out kidnappings or assassinations she does not condone in the slightest, or mocking her by bringing up the embarrassing show she had put on in Reeve’s office not long ago. 

Trying to make light of it, she tells him, “I’m _really_ good.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Are you?” he teases. “Are you _really_ good at blowing your daddy’s employees?”

“Only the handsome ones.”

“I’m tellin’ your brother you told me that,” he says, the both of them painfully aware of how her brother would react to that information being repeated in that same crass way. 

Charlie scoffs, propping her legs up on the coffee table and sinking back into the sofa. A magazine with her name on the cover is lying abandoned, and she picks it up to flip through the pages. “I’ll tell him you touched me.”

Reno laughs from beside her, shaking his head. “Man, you really have no problem goin’ straight for the balls, don’t you?”

“What balls, Reno?” Charlie asks him, admiring a photograph of herself in black-and-white. 

Reno swipes the magazine out of her hands, tossing it out of her reach. “The ones you keep in your purse. I’ll have ‘em back any day now.”

“How does it feel to know that you’ve been emasculated by your boss’s sister?”

“The only person in this building that’s been emasculated by _you_ is currently in a meeting, probably still reeling over the _really good_ show you put on. I didn’t really think he had it in him.”

Charlie scowls when Reno lifts his eyes from the paperwork on the table to grin at her, smug and taunting. She sighs, sitting up straight. “I need a favor,” she begins.

“Not interested, princess,” Reno retorts. 

“Not from _you_. Where’s Tseng?”

“He left when the pants came down.”

Charlie scowls. “You could have turned it _off_ , you know.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “You ever seen Rufus cry?”

“Of course,” Charlie chuckles, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s pathetic.”

“I’m so glad you told me that.” He lets out a high-pitched laugh before stuffing his face with the last of his sandwich. “What’s the favor?” Reno asks, crumpling up the foil that had been wrapped around his sandwich and tossing it into the trash can, raising his eyebrows at her when he makes it in. He brushes the crumbs off his wrinkled white dress shirt, peeking down the front to shake out the crumbs that fell onto his chest. 

“A little bit of espionage,” Charlie confesses sweetly, getting to her feet. “Possibly a little bit of extortion. Interested?”

Reno gives a dramatic shudder. “You’re more like your brother everyday, Charlie,” he notes. “All right, I’ll bite. Who did you dirty?”

“An orphanage.”

“What orphanage? You’re not really askin’ me to go extort some orphanage, are you?”

“Threats were supposedly made,” Charlie explains, biting down on her lip in an attempt to persuade him with a good dose of pouting. It always works with Rufus, but Reno doesn’t give in quite so easily. “They asked Reeve and me to leave and not come back.”

“Gee, I wonder why?” Reno sneers, scooping up the dossier in front of him and standing, walking over to the empty desk reserved for Tseng. “So someone doesn’t think you and Reeve are the perfect fuckin’ angels _you_ think you are, and that warrants espionage and extortion?”

Charlie approaches his side again, putting on the most serious face she can muster. It would be much easier to have Reno agree, so she at least doesn’t have to go over the entire thing with Tseng again. “Don’t bullshit me. You’ve done a lot worse for _a lot_ less.”

“What are you gonna do if I refuse? Blow me?”

“No, but you can get that kind of action from that slum whorehouse you’re so fond of. How’s that rash of yours, Reno? Healing well?”

“Who told you about that?”

“Rufus, of course. I’m still shocked you’d actually admit something so incredibly embarrassing.”

Reno gives her a sideways look. “I can think of someone who might be . . . a little better suited to this kind of stuff. Someone who would be a lot more discreet. Someone . . . small . . .” He turns to face her, looking at her with an intensity that makes her slightly uncomfortable. “Someone . . . black-and-white . . . sorta cute if you look at him from far away . . .”

Charlie blinks back at him, completely lost. She hesitates, narrowing her eyes at him. “. . . Rude . . . ?” she asks, drawing the single word out, unsure if her answer even makes sense. 

He laughs loudly. “You idiot. Never mind. What orphanage is it?”

“The Leaf House. Heard of it? You’re a slum-dweller, aren’t you? It’s Sector Five.”

“Hey!” He puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I _used_ to be. Anyway, I happen to know the place.”

“Yeah?”

“And it happens I’ll be down that way tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“Charlie, Charlie, _Charlie_ ,” Reno says, clicking his tongue at her. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.” He claps a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll look into it, see who’s concerned about our dear ol’ Miss Shinra visiting a bunch of dirty kids. And, before you leave . . .”

Charlie flinches as Reno reaches up towards her face. “What are you doing?” she snaps. “Stop.”

“Relax. Have you looked in a mirror lately?” With his white sleeve, he wipes at the corners of her mouth, his sleeve coming away stained with bright red lipstick. With a long thumb, he swipes at the corners of her eyes afterwards, his skin painted with smeared makeup. “Gods, you’re a walking disaster, you know that?”

Charlie smiles weakly. “Thanks, Reno.” She brushes past him towards the door, turning before she leaves. “I’ll get you next time. Won’t even hear me coming.”

“I’m sure I will.”

* * *

“Oh, good, you’re here.” President Shinra rises from his desk, not a single guard in sight. “What took you so damn long?”

“I was talking to Reno.”

Her father gives her a stern look as he approaches her, exasperated. “Stay away from that boy, Char. He’ll only give you trouble.”

“Don’t worry, daddy, he knows better than to do anything that would make Rufus mad.”

President Shinra grumbles under his breath, opening the double doors of his office, where Charlie has just come from. “Let’s go for a walk,” he says, waiting for her to follow. 

Once Charlie follows him out of his office, it’s a silent walk and elevator ride to her father’s favorite floor, the visitors museum, where President Shinra is displayed in all of his glory, beginning with a golden idol that makes him look far more handsome than Charlie thinks he really is. 

She’s been through this museum hundreds of times, and has probably memorized the details written on every placard. Her father had her lead some guided tours for a few months after he learned about Reeve moving in with her—it had been her punishment, of course, to walk around and declare all of her father’s triumphs and accomplishments with a feigned voice of wonder and awe. 

Instead of stopping before the statue of him, President Shinra brings her to a large painting of the family, minus her mother.

She and Rufus had been seventeen and sixteen, respectively, at the time of the painting. Charlie had been the only one seated, in a throne-like chair with velvet cushions, heavy diamond jewelry draped around her neck, her wrists, and hanging from her ears. She remembers feeling like a true princess that day, like from those books Veld used to read to her when she was little.

None of the three Shinras in the painting are smiling, their faces cold. Rufus is shown at her right and looks close to royalty himself, his light hair slicked back and his face pale and sharp. Their father stands behind Charlie’s chair, a cigar between his fingers, one hand on his daughter’s exposed shoulder. 

“Your wedding is coming up. Are you getting nervous?”

Charlie smiles crookedly at him, shrugging, her hands held behind her back as she looks up at the portrait. “Not really.”

“I confess, I’ll be relieved to finally see you married.” He hums contently up at the portrait. It looks empty without their mother. “Over and done with, and then maybe we can convince Rufus to settle.”

“Rufus will never settle,” Charlie replies, and even her father can’t argue against it. Rufus is far too stubborn, arrogant, and restless to be with one woman for the rest of his life. “I think your best bet would be to convince him _not_ to settle. Maybe that will light a fire under his feet.”

To her surprise, President Shinra lets out a round of booming laughter, smiling at his daughter. “That _is_ funny.” Both his laughter and smile die away quickly, however. “Did you find anything of worth in Rocket Town?”

She hums, stifling a laugh. “A drunken pilot still bitter about his past.”

“Why does that make you laugh, Char?” His time is curious, inquisitive, genuinely so. “Surely the same statement could be applied to you?”

Charlie’s smile flickers. “I’m only one of those three things.”

Her father doesn’t find humor in her statement this time. She should have known it was too much to ask for him to laugh at two jokes in a row. “I’m making you vice president,” he says, and Charlie’s heart leaps in her throat, “ _after_ that boy marries you and puts a son in you. You do know how, don’t you?”

She can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, what with the deadpan delivery of his question. Then she remembers that her father doesn’t joke. “I think I’ve got it figured out, thanks.”

“I’ve only just made up my mind a little while ago, and I’m already on the verge of changing it again.” Her father turns to face her, nearly eye-level. “You have just over four months until your wedding. I expect to see you acting like a vice president by that time, do you understand?” When Charlie doesn’t answer right away, he continues. “That means no more jokes, toughen up that bleeding heart of yours, and start demanding respect from your peers, _especially_ those Turks. You’re getting too close to those boys.”

Not like her father would ever listen to her complain, but part of Charlie wants to show him all the pictures from her childhood, just to have him see how many of them feature Turks instead of her own father. 

He ushers her along, down an aisle that shows off several pictures of a young President Shinra, slightly less handsome than Rufus. “Your son will be what Rufus should have been. Loyal, intelligent, strong . . . he’ll be a strong boy, certainly. There’s no denying Reeve has good genes. Any son by the two of you will be an excellent president after you, having grown up in the company just like you and Rufus did.”

It feels odd defending a son that doesn’t even exist yet, that might never exist. “No son of mine will be raised in Headquarters.”

Her father doesn’t like that. He whirls around to face her, having been looking at a picture of himself, blue eyes flashing with anger. “Without intervention on my behalf, a son by the two of you would be no better than a daughter.”

“Well, I think your own daughter is doing quite well herself, all things considered.”

“You insolent little brat,” he hisses, mustache trembling. “I offer you a position far above your own capabilities, and this is how you repay me? A flagrant lack of respect towards your own father?” He takes a step closer, but Charlie doesn’t falter. He wouldn’t dare strike her here, in a public place where anyone could walk in on the president hitting his own adult daughter. “Do you think I intend to have my first, and possibly _only_ , grandson raised by two soft-hearted people, one of them who has lacked proper discipline more than half of her life?”

She isn’t sure why these words spark a fire within her. Perhaps with the events she’s now set in motion, her courage and boldness has bolstered, or perhaps it’s the fact that her father is choosing to ignore all the _discipline_ he gave her when she was young. “I will not let you do to my son what you did to Rufus,” she says flatly. 

“Your brother is not the way he is because of _me_ ,” President Shinra snarls in her face, his face bright red, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Your brother has done that to himself. If your son turns out the same, perhaps you’ll find a little more sympathy in your bleeding heart for me.”

_No,_ she thinks. _My son will not be forced to watch their father beat their mother. My son will not take beatings from their father meant for their sister. My son will not be subjected to criticism every minute, will not be laughed at for things out of his control, will not be disciplined for speaking his mind._

“We’ll see,” she says after a moment. 

“If you have nothing serious left to say, then go.”

Charlie lingers for a moment, leaving before she gets a clout on the head for an accidental joke. 

* * *

Skinny arms drape loosely around his neck, the cool silk of her sleeping shirt pressed against his bare back. Her fingers scratch at the back of his head, pushing his still-damp hair aside in order for her to kiss the nape of his neck. It makes his shoulders tense, a shudder running through him. 

“What are you doing in here, all by your lonesome?” she whispers, resting her forehead against his shoulder. 

“Working,” he replies patiently, setting his pencil down in order to accommodate her as she slides into his lap, legs thrown over the arm of his chair, arms still wrapped around his neck. “Or rather, I _was_.”

Charlie smiles at him, fingers still toying with the ends of his hair. “Let me ask you something.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s related to anything business.”

“I think that depends on your perspective.” 

Curiosity piqued, Reeve wraps an arm around her waist, keeping her back from pressing hard against the wooden arm of the chair. His other arm keeps her legs in place, thumb brushing against the soft and silky skin of her thighs. “Let’s hear it.”

“Do you really want children?”

He hadn’t been expecting that. “Why not?”

Charlie shrugs, wriggling dangerously in his lap, smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Which one of us is going to raise a baby? Are you going to quit your job? We’re never home, and you’re already very committed to your work. If _I’m_ jealous, I’m sure any children we might have would be, too.” She frowns suddenly. “And I’d be . . . you know . . . _fat_.”

“You wouldn’t be fat, you would be pregnant. I think those are two completely different things.”

“I couldn’t do those photo shoots anymore. You know, the hot ones?”

Reeve chuckles awkwardly. “You know, I don’t know that I’m comfortable with the world seeing my wife in lingerie. I didn’t realize that the last one you did would be so . . . _risqué_.”

“Yeah, but I look _really_ hot in it, don’t I?” She kisses him softly. “Besides, it’s _your_ lap I’m sitting in. What do you think I am?”

He can’t argue that fact, nor does he have the fortitude to tell her ‘no’. “How about we get married first,” he starts again, shifting her in his lap and making her smile again. With her in his arms, he’s able to stand, carrying her like a new bride out of the spare bedroom that’s become his office. “And then we can think again about children.”

Truthfully, Reeve doesn’t think he would mind a child or two, a son or a daughter, it would make no difference. A light-haired, fair-skinned daughter with the “Shinra look” for him to spoil, running around the apartment, working with Charlie in her office, or a tall, dark-haired son for his mother to dote on, a son with not a trace of Shinra in him at all.

But she’s right, of course. Half the time, the both of them aren’t home until well after nine, and any child of theirs would certainly be raised by a nanny. Charlie wouldn’t like that. He knows her own childhood memories are tainted by an absent father and the constantly changing line-up of Turks that cared for her and Rufus when they were young. 

“You still owe me, you know, from earlier today,” she reminds him, as if he could possibly forget. The image of her on her knees, looking up at him and smiling, had haunted him all throughout the meeting that immediately followed her impressive performance. 

“Don’t worry, darling, I haven’t forgotten.”

Charlie presses a hard kiss to his cheekbone, one hand cradling the other side of his face. With dainty fingers, she traces what he assumes are the marks left behind by her lipstick. 

“Lovely,” she notes as they cross the threshold into the bedroom, and she resumes the kissing of his face, lips curled into a smile against his skin. “My father wants to make me vice president when we’re married.”

“Is that so?”

“You must be happy that your plan has finally come to fruition. Married to the future president of Shinra Electric Power Company.”

“It certainly took you long enough to figure me out,” he sighs, grinning at her. Her eyes sparkle when he drops her gently onto the bed, teeth gnawing on her plump bottom lip. “You’ve no idea how torturous these past few years with you have truly been.”

Charlie doesn’t answer. She only continues to smile up at him, not at all the playful thing that she’d been wearing only seconds before, but something softer, something a bit more genuine. 

“What?” he asks her, worried that he’s overstepped, said something wrong, something that offended her. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to . . . insinuate that I . . . I’m very happy with you. You know that.”

“No, everything is perfect,” she replies, touching his cheek. “I’m just sorry that loving me can be so . . . complicated.”

His heart starts to beat a little faster. “I was only trying to make a joke. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I only meant . . .” Charlie hesitates, giving her head a slight shake. “I’m sorry that I got you involved in all of this. All of my family drama.”

“Your family certainly keeps me on my toes.”

Her smile is even weaker now. He curses himself silently. 

“Charlie, if your family was going to scare me away, I would have left a long time ago.”

This seems to ease whatever fear she may be feeling. “Okay,” she whispers, spread out beneath him, his knee parting his thighs. 

“Okay,” Reeve repeats softly, kissing the pointed tip of her nose, lips hovering above her lips. Her eyes flutter closed, neck craning up to meet him halfway. “My Charlotte,” he sighs, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek. 

“Do you like the sound of it, at least?” she asks after he takes too long to kiss her. “Vice President Tuesti?”

“Very much.” 

Her eyes open again, startling him. “Are you going to stop looking at me and kiss me now?”

“Yes,” he answers breathlessly, doing as he’s told. He’s certainly in no position to deny the future vice president (future _president_ ) something so sweet. 


	15. Chapter 15

It happens on a Thursday evening. 

She’s having such a lovely time, having left Headquarters early due to dinner reservations at a place in Sector Eight, a night that’s been planned for three weeks, rescheduled once when Reeve had been forced to stay late and rescheduled again after an emergency board meeting had ruined their plans yet again. 

He had even bought her new jewelry for the occasion, a pair of diamond earrings that hang heavy and expensive on her ears, her hair pinned back for others to see. Charlie has since lost count of all the little gifts he’s gotten her over the years, far outpacing Rufus at this point. Rufus’s sole goal has always been to buy her the biggest, most expensive jewelry there is, without bothering to ask if it’s something Charlie would even like. 

Much of their conversation is spent happily abusing their fellow coworkers, flirting in low voices over the table, or talking wedding details. While Charlie can’t deny that Reeve has an eye for taste, sometimes she has to force his own opinion out of him about certain things, until it’s finally uttered uneasily and immediately brushed off by him as a bad idea or a half-assed suggestion. 

_Her_ father did that to him, she can’t help but think. Her father had brushed him off and dismissed his ideas so often and so easily and, at times, rather cruelly, and ultimately crushed Reeve’s spirit. It makes her sad. 

And in between conversation, a smoky-voiced singer sings upon the stage, mere feet from their table, backed by a small jazz band. His arm rests upon the back of her chair, and Charlie watches the entertainment with a smile on her face, completely and incandescently happy. 

It all happens all at once, within mere seconds, so quickly that Charlie isn’t quite certain what happens first. 

There’s a resounding boom, the sound of airships soaring through the air multiplied by a thousand, so loud that it seems to rattle the entire building, shattering all of the windows at the same time with a loud _crash!_ The ground quakes violently beneath her feet, the lights all pop and shower sparks down upon everyone’s heads to leave them in the dark, there are screams, the night sky through the tall windows is momentarily blindingly bright as morning, something invisible hits her in the chest with the force of a train, and something warm washes over her, searing her fair skin. 

When she opens her eyes again, it’s to inhale loudly and deeply, gasping for air that’s choked with thick black smoke. She’s lying flat on her back, looking up at the night sky—the _sky_ —and the screams haven’t ceased. Even with the ringing in her head, she can hear the screams.

The wind has been knocked out of her, and she isn’t sure how long she’s been unconscious. She continues to gasp for air, out of breath and feeling as if she’s drowning. Her heart beats painfully quick, and it takes her what feels like hours to breathe properly again.

Nearly the entire restaurant has collapsed, stone walls crumbling, the interior burning, a blazing fire cracking and popping and brightening the exposed, darkened street, surrounding her and slowly trapping her inside the building. Massive pieces of stone lay around her, having smashed the tables and the stage and several people, some of them screaming at her as Charlie moves some debris off her body with trembling arms, pushing herself very slowly onto her hands and knees and willing herself not to vomit. 

“Reeve?” Charlie shouts hoarsely, getting unsteadily to her feet and stumbling over a pile of rubble, thankful she hadn’t lost her shoes or broken her heels. She coughs, trying to catch sight of him through the smoke-filled air. 

_What the hell happened here? An assassination attempt? Did someone know we were here?_

“Reeve!” 

She screams when fingers clench around her ankle, turning to find a woman looking up at her from under a piece of the ceiling, her face covered in blood. “Help me,” she begs, but Charlie stumbles backwards, suddenly afraid.

There’s nothing she can do. 

“ _Reeve!_ ”

Charlie trips again, a dry sob escaping her lips as she falls to her knees, sharp edges of stone digging into her skin. But the thing she has tripped over catches her attention, the silhouette of a broad-shouldered and dark-haired man lying on his side in a torn and dusty suit, the fabric slightly singed in places. 

She crawls to his side, her breath hitching. His face is covered in a thick layer of white dust and a spattering of blood from a deep gash at his hairline. His legs are trapped under a pile of the rubble, and it takes Charlie all of her strength to free him, hoping that his legs haven’t been broken. She doesn’t quite think she could carry him. 

His right pant leg is torn, blood running down his already bruising and dusty calf, but nothing seems broken or twisted awkwardly or crushed. She’s able to roll him onto his back, hovering over him. 

“Reeve,” she croaks, tapping his cheek gently, covering his body with her own as she feels another tremor that shifts around the remains of the restaurant, and something very close to them explodes, sending a wave of warm air to wash over them. After a moment, when she’s sure it’s safe again, she straightens up and touches his face again, desperate. “Reeve, please wake up. Please, we have to get out of here. Please don’t leave me al—”

He coughs suddenly, eyes fluttering open as if he’s staring directly into the sun, the lines at the corners of his eyes pronounced underneath the thick layer of white dust that makes him look half a ghost. 

“Are you all right?” she asks, heart still pounding, afraid to wrap her arms around him and find that he’s broken some bones or is seriously injured. Her hands hover over his chest, shaking violently. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Reeve groans, but Charlie helps pull him up into a sitting position, looking around for a way back out into the street. “What happened?” he asks, still blinking very slowly and sounding out of breath, his dark eyes glazed over. “Charlie, you’re bleeding—”

“So are you,” she says, the adrenaline coursing through her keeping the pain at bay. She isn’t even sure where she’s bleeding from. “We have to go. Can you stand?”

It takes her a minute to help him to his feet, the fire getting closer to them. With an arm around her shoulder, he’s able to find his balance, his first few steps looking like those of a newborn chocobo’s. 

The two of them wade through the debris, choking on the fumes and smoke, faces blackened with soot, reddened with blood, shining with sweat, clinging to each other’s sweaty hands. She can’t escape the heat at all—in the streets, the fire continues to spread at an alarming pace through shops and apartment buildings, and Charlie’s hair sticks to her cheeks and neck, sweat running down her spine in rivulets. 

“The reactor. Look,” Reeve tells her hoarsely, pointing towards the towering reactor on the edge of the plate, dark gray smoke pouring from the top and polluting the air, smaller explosions still going off every few minutes, the entire thing in danger of collapsing or going up completely in flames. 

It’s burning, and half the sector is on fire and the screaming echoes in the night alongside the emergency announcements via Shinra Inc., urging people to evacuate immediately, and people are burning while they run out of their homes, and buildings are crumbling with people inside, and she and Reeve are being jostled around by people running up and down the streets, screaming for help, looking for their family members and loved ones.

_No, no, no,_ she thinks, _it wasn’t supposed to be like this._

Charlie looks around, horrified with the sight presented to her. Her head throbs unbearably, and when she holds up her arm, it’s to find her forearm bears a shiny pink burn that looks inflamed, and blood drips from her scraped up knees and she doesn’t think she can hear well out of her right ear, because Reeve looks to be talking to her, but she can’t hear a word he’s saying. 

_It was only supposed to blow the core,_ she thinks again, _not this, never this._

Downed power lines continue to spark and explode, the roofs of buildings shake and collapse. The restaurant they had been in is completely in ruins. A woman whose shirt is on fire runs up to her, screaming bloody murder, incoherent and wide-eyed, gripping her shoulders tight before sprinting off into the night, the fire spreading from her shirt to her hair, the screams haunting.

There’s a horrible stink, like charred meat and sulfur and smoke, and Charlie can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe, looking around again at the fiery sector, dead bodies in the street that are bloodied and burned and crushed, her chest heaving. 

“ _Charlie!_ ” 

She turns to look up at Reeve. “We have to help them,” she croaks, still holding onto his hand, squeezing so tight that they’ll have to pry her off him. “We have to help—”

He nods, far more composed than she is, or at least he looks composed from her perspective. The moment he releases her hand to help the nearest available victims, Charlie lingers, watching him help an elderly couple to their feet, pointing towards the Shinra building that dominates the skyline, even at night, right in the middle of the city.

“ _Mama! Mama!_ ”

“ _Please! Help us!_ ”

“ _Daddy! Wake up, daddy!_ ”

Charlie continues to breathe quickly, covering her ears with her hands and closing her eyes, afraid to see the destruction that her bomb has caused, afraid to hear the screams of those her bomb had hurt. She sinks to her bleeding knees, unsure if she’s able to stand any longer, crying into the darkness and silence, the flames bright against her eyelids and hot against her skin. 

Someone touches her wrists—how could she not know that touch?—and then cradles her face, warm and damp hands upon her cheeks. Charlie opens her eyes to find Reeve looking at her, talking to her. She uncovers her ears to listen, ashamed of the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he’s telling her, wiping at the sweat and blood on her face. “Charlotte, it’s all right—”

The ground shifts again, and for a moment, Charlie thinks the plate is crumbling, and imagines them falling all the way to their deaths in the slums far below them. There’s another round of screams that split the night, the sound of sirens blaring, and there’s the loud rumbling of another explosion off the reactor. 

Reeve wraps his arms around her, his back facing the reactor as a few more power lines pop nearby. Charlie buries her face into his chest, wiping her tears off on his shirt. When she pulls away, his white dress shirt is covered with smeared blood and soot.

_That couldn’t have been my bomb . . ._

“We have to get as many people as possible to Headquarters. It’s safe there,” he tells her, standing with her. “Go flag down an emergency vehicle and have them bring you—”

“No, I want to help,” she replies, and Reeve gives her an exasperated smile before nodding, knowing that he won’t be able to change her mind. 

They break off in different directions, Charlie heading towards a large residential building on the brink of collapse, with people waving out their windows, shouting for help or trying to slide down makeshift ropes that are made up of sheets tied together or clothes. 

Debris blocks emergency stairwells, keeping a family trapped up on the upper floors, and one man jumps from the top floor of his apartment building to escape a fiery death, landing with a _crack!_ on the pavement below, face down and unmoving. 

_I need to find someone I_ can _help_ , Charlie tells herself, but walking away from people in need leaves a bad taste in her mouth. 

“Please! You have to go to the Shinra building!” Charlie yells, kneeling down to help a few young men lift a piece of rock lying on a crying woman’s torso. 

The woman is able to be pulled to safety by one of the men, but her leg is broken badly, and Charlie has to call some nearby medics to have her transported to Headquarters in the back of an armored truck, belted onto a stretcher. 

“Miss Shinra, we’ll take it from here,” one of the men tells her, a bandana covering his mouth and nose. “We’ll make sure we send everyone we can to Shinra HQ.”

Charlie leaves them, but doesn’t immediately leave the area. She wanders around, looking for people to help. The ground is littered in bodies, unconscious or dead, she can’t say for certain. The collapsing of buildings have left the streets stained with blood, and she almost vomits at the sight of someone’s head half-crushed by tons of stone, bits of his skull showing.

A girl no older than five stands in the middle of the busy street, crying out for her mother and father. Charlie carries her to the nearest truck, urging them to bring the girl back to Headquarters to see if her parents are already there. 

A gray-haired man is buried under the remains of his house, legs crushed beneath the weight of the second story, reaching out for Charlie as she passes. She and the young man with the bandana help dig him out, and Charlie has to look away from the awkward angle his legs are bent. 

She helps everyone she can, until the tremors and explosions have ceased, until the fires are slowly burning down of their own accord, still dangerously high and licking the night sky, but done spreading faster than anyone can escape. Water is being put on them, but it’s not enough, and only serves to make the smoke worse. 

Charlie spends too much time looking for Reeve, people shoulder-checking her on their way to the next sector, hardly recognizing her through the mask of soot she wears, trying not to trip or break the heels of her shoes, lifting the front of her dress so it doesn’t get caught and tear right off her body to leave her naked in the middle of the destroyed street.

Shinra helicopters begin to circle the area, spotlights shining down on the citizens fleeing their destroyed homes, the fire, the last minute explosions coming from the reactor. 

When Reeve finally finds her, he looks in worse shape than when she left him, his suit jacket completely missing and his sleeves rolled up, the skin of his hands and forearms stained red and the face of his watch shattered. The injury on his forehead still leaks blood down the side of his face, eyes still unfocused and limping slightly as he approaches her. 

“Reeve—”

“Don’t worry,” he assures her, taking her into his bloodstained arms. “I have a truck that’s going to take us back to Headquarters. Are you all right?”

“All of those people—”

His mouth is a tight, thin line. “I know.”

“We have to help them—”

“We’ve done what we can,” he says, touching her shoulders and leading her towards the nearest truck, the back doors open wide, security standing on either side. “You need to get somewhere safe. I’ll stay behind to help, and I’ll meet you in—”

“No!” Charlie shouts, standing her ground before hopping into the back of the truck, where she’ll be alone and frightened. “No, you can’t! I’ll go with you—”

“Your life is far more important than mine,” Reeve says, wiping off her face with his palm and kissing her on the mouth. “Are you sure you’re all right?” With an arm around her, he tries to urge her into the truck, but she refuses, panicking, fingers scrabbling to grip the front of his singed shirt. “You need to go see a doctor, Charlotte, please get into the truck—”

“ _No_ ,” she counters, squirming in his hold, fighting him. “I’m not leaving without you—”

“ _Charlie, get in the fucking truck!_ ”

She looks over her shoulder, bewildered, to find Reno hanging out of the driver’s side window, looking at her with wide eyes and continuing to shout at her. 

Glancing back at Reeve, her resolve weakening with the mounting amount of dead and dying bodies dropping like flies around her, Charlie kisses Reeve hard again on the lips, forgoing the back of the truck completely to make for the passenger seat, where Tseng is already sitting. 

Tseng has to pull her up, sliding closer to Reno to allow her space, her entire body aching and burning and in pain. The pain seems to hit her like a freight train, all at once, and she feels as if her entire body is completely broken in the moment.

“Put your goddamn seatbelt on,” Reno says almost pleadingly, but Charlie ignores him, her arms too heavy to lift. “ _Shit,_ you’re in bad shape, Charlie.” 

Tseng has to reach across to put her seatbelt on for her, with Charlie’s mind a world away, in a fog.

She turns her head to look out the window, looking down to see Reeve holding a hand to the window, fingertips pressed against the glass, smiling reassuringly at her, though it’s hardly convincing, more of a painful grimace.

“No,” Charlie moans, sitting up straighter and crying out as her entire body throbs. “No, we can’t leave him behind—”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a big boy,” Reno replies casually, putting the truck in gear. 

“No, let him in—stop!—we can’t leave without him!”

“We gotta go, Charlie!”

“He’ll be fine,” Tseng supplies, straightening her as she begins to slouch against him, her eyes growing heavy, seeing stars. “We need to get you back to safety.”

The going is slow, however, with people flooding the street. Reno curses loudly and screams to no one in particular when they get in the way of his truck, blocking roads meant for emergency vehicles, but as they grow closer to the middle of the city, towards Shinra Headquarters, the damage isn’t as bad, and some places haven’t been touched at all, save for some thinning black smoke that permeates the air. 

“Tseng, please—”

“We can’t turn around now, Charlotte,” Tseng says in a low voice. Reno looks sideways at her and cringes. She’s afraid to look at her reflection, afraid to move, afraid of the pain that will certainly get worse when she moves again. “Don’t worry, he’ll be all right. Someone will go back for him, but you’re more important right now.”

“But he’s important to _me_ ,” she protests weakly. 

She can feel hot tears streaking down her face, burning her eyes. She forces herself to look at the looming figure of her father’s building, not wanting to see anymore evidence of her wrongdoing. 

“The reactor exploded,” she breathes, her throat very dry. 

“Yeah, Avalanche,” Reno replies, picking up speed as they loop around onto the highway, away from the residential area. “We got ‘em on camera. Rough lookin’ bunch.”

“Reno,” Tseng murmurs sharply, cutting his fellow Turk off immediately. 

Charlie holds up her hands, palms up. They’re bleeding from digging through all the debris, bright red, but somehow her engagement ring is still intact, if not a little dusty. “I left people behind to die,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “They were in their homes, screaming for help—”

“You can’t help everyone,” Reno interrupts, firm, not a shred of humor in his voice. It’s discomforting to hear him sound so serious. “You did what you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“The people are not your responsibility,” Tseng continues, squeezed in between Reno and Charlie, his long legs pressed together. “You could have chosen to do nothing, and saved no one in the process. Be thankful you were able to save some.”

They take the private entrance, and when it becomes apparent to Tseng and Reno that Charlie isn’t going to get out of the truck by herself, he has to call for some medics to retrieve her, strapping her onto a stretcher and carrying her through a back door to an elevator that takes them up to the medical bay, typically reserved for infantrymen or SOLDIERs, and sometimes the Turks after particularly gruesome beatings. 

She sees herself for the first time in the reflection of the glass elevator, illuminating the still raging, massive fire in the distance, brightening the smoking reactor in all of its glory. 

It’s not a pretty sight, and it makes Charlie want to cry. 

Her light blonde hair hangs lank and sweat-soaked on either side of her face, a cut above her left eyebrow and dried blood covering her upper lip and chin that had drained from her nose. Her cheeks are black, soot covering her fair skin, blackening the tip of her pointed nose. Much of her right side is burned, skin showing through holes in her dress, flesh pink. 

The left sleeve of her dress is hanging loose off her arm, her chest bruised and adorned with shallow little cuts. Her _organs_ hurt, like someone has delivered a series of forceful punches to her torso with incredible strength, and moving has become too much of a chore, too painful. 

Reno is quiet as he watches the scene unfold in Sectors One and Eight, emergency services slow to put out the fires, but search and rescue is doing their job, flying low helicopters over the rooftops of burning buildings. 

When the elevator dings, a few floors below the medical bay, Reno leaves the elevator, but Tseng remains. 

She closes her eyes, exhaling softly. 

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

* * *

He doesn’t really know how to feel upon walking into the medical bay.

He doesn’t really feel _anything_ upon walking into the medical bay, save for pain. He definitely feels pain.

The back of the long hospital room has been hidden behind a wide partition, to give Charlotte more privacy, and the lights have been dimmed. The three medics fussing over his injuries lead him towards the back, as well, but upon looking down into her hospital bed, desperate to see her alive and well, his stomach threatens to expel everything all at once, everything he’s been holding back over the last few hours, helping with last-minute evacuations. 

Tseng lifts his eyes from a yellow-tinted document in his hands, seated in a wooden chair at Charlie’s side, fixing Reeve with a very intense gaze for a few seconds before looking away again. 

It’s odd seeing Charlie wearing something so simple. The hospital has given her a fresh outfit, a white cotton t-shirt and cotton shorts. Lying on her left side, fast asleep, her t-shirt is pulled up slightly so as not to cover the angry burns on her side, and the cuts on her face and chest seem to have been attended to, her skin washed clean of blood and dirt and dust, and her hair brushed. A blanket is tossed over her thighs and legs, tangled up around her. 

But she’s not alone in her bed. 

Lying on his back, Rufus takes up a little more than half of the hospital bed, one of his arms tucked behind his head as he sleeps, ankles crossed, shoes still on, and his other arm wrapped around Charlie, who’s sleeping against her brother’s chest, curled up at his side like she so often curls up at Reeve’s side.

With Tseng sitting there, silent and stoic and seemingly at ease despite all the destruction and terror that’s just taken place, Reeve can only assume he was the one to call Rufus, to let him know that Charlie had been injured, had almost been . . . _killed._

Even with her eyes closed, he can tell that she’s been crying, and when she breathes through her nose, she sounds congested. 

And she’s wearing her ring. She never wears her ring while she’s sleeping.

On one hand, Reeve is astounded that he’s being allowed to bear witness to something so . . . vulnerable, and slightly sad. It makes Charlie look so innocent, playing the dutiful role of ‘little’ sister to her brother, who has always seen it as his duty to protect and care for her, despite her being the first born. He doesn’t really think he’s ever seen the two of them sharing a sweet moment without being pushed away by Rufus seconds afterwards, seeking privacy. 

To see Rufus Shinra sleeping so peacefully beside his own sister, to see him openly love something, to openly show affection for someone without being bitter about it is almost touching— _almost_. 

Reeve knows better than that, of course. He knows that this is likely not a touching and innocent moment for Rufus, but a moment of subtle accomplishment and triumph and victory, having reached Charlie’s side before her own fiancé, and now rubbing it right in his face. 

He knows President Shinra would likely die of a heart attack if he knew Rufus was here now, sharing a bed with Charlie. When she had been sixteen, President Shinra had abruptly sent Rufus to Costa del Sol with a Turk for three long weeks after catching his son and daughter sleeping in the same bed one night. 

Charlie had screamed at her father to bring Rufus back until she was red in the face and sobbing, and President Shinra had made some cruel remarks that seemed to imply something less than savory brewing between his two children. Those accusations had been denied, of course.

Charlie had claimed it was all innocent, that they had only been sleeping, and hadn’t even seemed to realize that there was anything odd about it, hadn’t seemed to understand that it was unnatural for children past puberty to share a bed. Even now, at twenty-six, there are still moments when Reeve catches her seemingly regressing, falling back into these old and toxic habits developed after years of being isolated from other children with only Rufus as company. 

Another reason he would prefer to keep Rufus a world away from Charlie. Reeve knows her brother would rather drag her down with him instead of leaving her to fend for herself, and Charlie would go willingly with him. 

“Here, Director, have a seat.”

He can’t speak. His throat burns from shouting and inhaling all of the smoke, each breath coming with a loud wheeze. Everything seems to hurt, and his leg aches so badly that he can hardly put pressure on it any longer. 

He still can’t believe how quickly it had all happened. One moment he had been leaning in to kiss Charlie, and the next moment he was lying flat on his back, staring up into her bleeding face as flames roared all around them. 

If he had been given time to process everything, he isn’t certain that he would have been able to stay behind. Seeing all of those people littering the street—dead bodies and bodies on fire, the screeching, the screaming, the horror, and the anxiety of wondering if Charlie was going to make it back to him—had been emotionally overwhelming, and the memory will surely stick with him for the rest of his life. 

Half of Sector Eight (and Sector One, as far as he’s aware) had been reduced to almost nothing within mere seconds, or minutes, however long he had been knocked out among the remains of the restaurant. Half of two sectors reduced to ruins and ashes because of _his_ machine, blown from the inside and cutting power to most homes and businesses. 

He had tried to count how many bodies he’d seen on the streets, but it was unbearable. Hundreds— _hundreds_ died tonight, and surely more will continue to die tomorrow and the next day from injuries sustained, from possible mako poisoning. He doesn’t want to know what the final tally will be.

But Charlie hadn’t been one of them. Despite the fact that she’s sleeping sweetly beside her brother, Reeve has to be grateful that she’s alive, that she’s relatively well, that she hadn’t been killed in the explosion his reactor caused. 

“Let her sleep,” one woman insists, pulling the curtain around Charlie’s bed to hide her from view, despite Reeve only having been looking at them, not bothering them in the slightest. “It took hours to calm her.”

They work quietly on him, attending to several injuries he hadn’t realized were affecting him. While being bandaged up, he hears Charlie stir, so softly, whimpering in a raspy voice that sounds slightly muffled. 

She’s crying, and he wants so badly to reach out to her, to say something, but he doesn’t have the energy, can’t find the strength to pull the curtain back and look her in the eyes after what’s happened. 

“Don’t cry, sweet sister,” comes Rufus’s whisper, and Reeve can hear him place a few kisses somewhere on Charlie’s face, “it’s all right now. I’m here.”

There’s the shifting of someone on the bed, and the soft sound of Charlie’s breathing as she falls back asleep. 

Dawn is breaking when he’s left alone, wearing fresh clothing not unlike Charlie’s and lying back on the generic hospital pillow that offers less than half the comfort that sleeping with Charlotte brings him. Twice he’s tempted to wake her, to coerce her into bed with him instead of with her brother, but he doesn’t want to wake her and cause her to start crying again. 

He rubs his temples, his head pounding. He drinks nearly the entire pitcher of water on the nightstand beside his bed, extending his limbs to look at the damage that’s been done. 

His leg is wrapped with slightly blood-stained bandages, and his knuckles are scraped and bleeding, his palms sore from lifting, digging, and bracing himself. 

The explosion is going to cost his department and the company hundreds of thousands of gil, if not millions. They’ll need to put money up for replacement services for the victims who now have nowhere left to go (and who are still lingering in the lobby many floors below them), the rebuilding of damaged property, the rebuilding of the reactor. President Shinra will want to raise mako prices, he’s sure, and that certainly won’t go over well with the people. 

That means more long nights trapped in his office, coming home after Charlie is already asleep in bed and leaving for work while she’s still in the shower. It means not being able to attend appointments regarding their wedding, having ten minutes to both make love to her and whisper sweet promises into her ear, stolen moments between meetings and work their only time together. 

It means disappointing her when she wants to go away for a brief vacation. It means disappointing her when she wants to leave work early to see a play, to go out to eat, to sneak home with him and make up for all the time they don’t have to spend with each other. 

Guilt weighs heavy on his chest, suffocating him. It’s crushing, knowing that he hadn’t been able to save everyone he came into contact with, knowing that he had left behind people unable to be saved, knowing that the destruction of his own creation had killed hundreds, knowing that he had brought Charlotte into such danger, knowing that she could have been killed in that entire mess and knowing he would have been shot dead if she had been killed. 

He closes his eyes, exhausted, but he knows that sleep will not come easily. 

* * *

Charlie’s screen is thrown wide open a few hours after lying awake in complete agony, pain surging through his body and guilt plaguing his mind. 

Reeve props himself onto an elbow, either completely unnoticed by President Shinra or completely ignored by him. Regardless, the president’s face turns bright red at the sight of Charlie and Rufus embracing in their sleep like twins in the womb, his thick mustache quivering with rage. 

“Get away from your sister, boy,” President Shinra snaps, waking the both of his children instantly. It takes them a moment to untangle from each other’s arms, the both of them unabashed and groggy. “A hundred goddamn beds in this place and you choose the one with your own sister in it. Do I need to send you away again?”

“Father, giving someone comfort may seem an unfamiliar thing to you,” Rufus begins, and Reeve holds his breath, half-afraid that Charlie is going to wake up to her brother being beaten before her very eyes, “but I can assure you—”

“Quiet. Don’t give me any cheek,” President Shinra interrupts him, seething with rage. He doesn’t show it very much, but Reeve is all too familiar with that look, the same look that Charlie has when she’s furious. “Get out, boy. I’ll speak with you later.”

Rufus hesitates, perched on the edge of Charlie’s bed. He glances quickly at Reeve, his lips curling into a sneer, pressing a kiss to his sister’s temple as she blinks a few times, coughing violently and attempting to sit up with Rufus’s help. 

Her eyes widen at the sight of him. “Reeve! You’re here!” Her voice is hoarse, hardly there.

He smiles, but says nothing, not wanting to interrupt her father. 

President Shinra seems wary of continuing this conversation in front of his daughter’s husband-to-be, waiting for Rufus to leave the hospital wing before pressing on, sitting down at the foot of her bed. “How are you both feeling?”

Charlie looks to him, as if hoping for an answer written across his face. When he has no answer to supply her with, she turns back to face her father. “I’m okay, papa.”

Is it concern that flickers across her father’s face?

“Tseng told me you were in bad shape last night,” President Shinra sighs, not even bothering to touch his own daughter, to hug her, to kiss her, after her near-death experience. “You look much better than I imagined you would.” Without saying so much as a simple word of caring, he gets back to his feet and looks at the both of them. “I need to see the both of you, separately, when you’re feeling better.”

The moment her father leaves the hospital ward, Charlie climbs awkwardly out of bed before Reeve gets a chance to do the same, clambering into his own and sighing, partially smothering him as she kisses his face with the softest kisses she can manage. 

“I’m so angry with you,” she breathes in between kisses, gasping in pain when he touches her side, smiling when he murmurs an apology. 

“Why?” he asks, heart racing. 

Charlie holds herself above him, one knee on either side of his waist, touching his shoulders gently, the ends of her hair tickling his cheeks. “How could you stay behind like that? I was worried sick.”

At this confession, Reeve offers her a relieved little smile. “I’m sorry that our night out was so . . . disastrous.”

She shakes her head, tears springing to her swollen eyes. “You think I care about that? You think you owe me an apology for what happened?” Kissing him again tearfully, on both of his cheeks, she whispers, “I thought you were dead. I begged them to turn around and go back for you, and all night I thought—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m all right.”

It’s the furthest thing from the truth, but right now, despite everything, he thinks he might be slightly okay. With Charlie beside him, hovering over him, kissing him like she hasn’t seen him for months, it’s getting better, his mind not quite as cloudy, a weight lifting off his shoulders to ease the pressure on his chest. 

“My hero,” she rasps, settling back down beside him and curling up against him, just as she had with Rufus. She drapes an arm over his stomach, the bed a little small for the both of them. 

“I’m not a hero,” he tells her, pulling her close to tuck her right in the crook of his arm, never intending to let her go. “I did what anyone would have done in my position.”

“No,” she says. “Not anyone.” Charlie raises herself to look down into his face again. “I love you.”

She’s right, of course. Not everyone from Shinra Inc. would willingly have stayed behind after a surprise bombing to help pull innocent civilians from underneath the rubble of their homes, from out of crushed cars, from roasting to death upon the flames. If he had to guess, the amount of people in his position that would have done the same could be counted on one hand, and Charlie would be one of those people. 

He supposes that’s one of the reasons he loves her so much.

And he also supposes, maybe, that’s why she loves _him_. 


	16. Chapter 16

Tseng and Reno are standing guard outside of her father’s office, but whether they’re there for the president’s protection or hers, she isn’t certain. 

The both of them look slightly uneasy, even Tseng, with his impressive ability to suppress any sign of emotion (years of being a Turk will do that to you), but he opens the door for her as she approaches, allowing her to pass over the threshold and into her father’s empty office.

She hadn’t really felt up to it, truthfully, but there was no possible way she was going to fall back asleep. It had taken a long time to convince Reeve to close his eyes and rest, despite his protests. 

First he had insisted he needed to get to work, and then he had insisted he needed to go downtown to see if there was anything else he could do, but Charlie held up a mirror to let him see the state of himself, face drained of color, bleeding through his bandages, dark shadows beneath his eyes. 

It had taken soft kisses, soft touches, a couple of whispered words of comfort (her heart hadn’t really been in it, but she couldn’t just leave him to sulk and overthink everything while she was gone), and then he was fast asleep, nuzzled against her chest with her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Of course, she doesn’t blame him for not wanting to sleep. Every time Charlie had closed her eyes the night before, she could _feel_ the heat of the flames licking her cheeks, could hear the screams, could see people engulfed in flames and streaking down the street half-naked, their clothes burned off. 

She had dreamed that Reeve was one of those poor victims, trapped beneath the weight of the city that he helped build, killed by the reactors that he helped design. 

It hadn’t been until Rufus arrived, fresh off a private plane from Costa del Sol at the request of Tseng, that they had been able to calm Charlie, who had been desperate to have someone go back for Reeve. 

She had felt like a child again when Rufus snuck into her bed to wrap an arm around her, only this time, Mother wasn’t there to take her away. 

Still feeling sick to her stomach, the bright lighting of President Shinra’s office making her head ache painfully, Charlie steps up to the front of his desk, hands held behind her back. She feels dead on her feet, trying hard not to let it show.

At least she had been given the opportunity to change into something a little more presentable, but her clothes are loose and flowing, to keep from sticking to the burns up and down her side and arm, the flesh on the side of her neck and jaw still slightly raw. The doctors had done what they could, even using military-grade materia, but it only caused the burns to blister painfully, speeding up the healing process at the cost of a certain ugliness. 

When she hears the sound of the doors closing behind her, every last one of her instincts is telling her to run, but her body has a hard time catching up with her head. 

“Where is Reeve? He hasn’t come to see me yet,” President Shinra begins gruffly, and Charlie can tell that he’s angry. She can only hope that he’s angry with her, and not Reeve. “It’s been hours.”

“He’s sleeping, daddy,” she says gently, hoping that he’s left undisturbed. “Leave him alone. He was out late last night, helping people. He needs to rest.”

President Shinra doesn’t answer, dragging a hand down his face and groping off to the side for his cigar. She’s done it now, she thinks, whatever she’s done. He gets heavily to his feet and lights his cigar, flicking a handful of matches against the thin striking surface on the back of the matchbook. 

The smoke makes her already churning stomach even worse. She inhales and exhales deeply, trying to keep from vomiting all over her own shoes on her father’s shoes. The room feels as if it’s spinning all around her.

“If I _ever_ catch your brother in bed with you again, I will send him so far away that he’ll never be able to get back.” He throws the matchbook back on his desk, taking a few angry puffs of his cigar. “No doubt the boy would crawl back to Midgar on bloodied hands and knees if it meant laying claim over his sister.”

Charlie narrows her eyes. She isn’t going to apologize for that. Why would she? Rufus had come to her when she needed him most, thanks to Tseng’s quick thinking, and had wiped her tears away, kissed her forehead and tear-stained cheeks, comforted her until she was able to sleep. 

Her father wouldn’t know the first thing about comfort, especially considering his failed attempt at doing so earlier this morning. 

When it’s clear to her father that she has nothing to say, he puts his cigar down, still burning, in the ashtray. Past him, through the windows, smoke still lingers in the air from the fires that have only recently been put out. “What have you done, girl?” he asks her in a low voice, walking around his desk to get nearer to her. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve—”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Charlie counters, swallowing hard. She should have known the moment she saw the Turks outside the door what was going to happen. They aren’t there for protection—they’re there to make sure no one else interrupts what’s about to happen, and to make sure Charlie doesn’t leave. This knowledge makes her take a small, frightened step backwards. “I was almost killed in that explosion last night—”

“Yet here you stand.”

Charlie can feel her heart leaping in her throat. “Father, I didn’t—”

“I know you had something to do with this,” he hisses, pointing a fat finger in her face. “You escape with your life, sending as many beggars as you can into my building, to shelter them, to feed them, to care for them, all while parts of two sectors have been burned to the ground.” President Shinra moves closer, but Charlie has nowhere to go. She knows that neither Tseng or Reno will allow her to leave, not while her father is right here. “This has your stink all over it, Char, and I’ll not stand for it any longer!”

The blow he delivers to her face brings her to her knees. Her face feels like it’s swelling with impossible speed, stinging and burning, lights popping behind her eyes. Charlie cradles her cheek, trying to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. 

“I knew I should have kept the Turks involved!” he continues, and Charlie can hear the soft metallic clinking of his belt buckle, making her feel like a child again, cowering in her bedroom. “I never should have allowed you to lull me into a false sense of security—” She hears the satisfying and frightening _thwip!_ of her father removing his belt completely in one swift movement—“I should have had them at your side even while you _slept!_ ”

Hunched over on her knees, Charlie covers her face, afraid to look up, afraid that the leather will connect with her cheek and split open her lip, black her eye, break open the freshly cared for wound on her face. 

President Shinra scoffs. “You don’t sound surprised, Char,” he grumbles, sounding as if his cigar is back between his lips. “Are your Turks so incapable of keeping secrets from you?”

“Rufus told me you were having me followed,” she confesses, summoning the courage to look up at her father again. His belt is in his right hand, folded over, tapping the leather against the palm of his left hand while puffing hard on his cigar. 

“Clearly your brother needs to remember his place, as well.”

She gets painfully to her feet, standing up as straight as she can and wearing the mark on her face like a trophy. “I had nothing to do with this.”

Her father lowers the hand with the belt to his side, sneering at her as he picks up a piece of paper from his desk. “You disrespectful, ungrateful little brat,” he continues to sneer, offering her the paper. Charlie takes it from him, skimming it over. “You will give this speech tonight, this very evening, to be broadcasted in every home in Midgar . . . every home that still stands, that is.”

Charlie’s chest heaves as she reads through the material. Her own father actually believes she would read this? Does he really think she would stand before a camera and promise to hunt down Avalanche like dogs, only to hang them in front of the reactors? It’s sickening, and part of her thinks that President Shinra already knows she has no interest in following through with it. 

After a long five minutes, Charlie holds out the paper again. “No,” she says flatly, trying to keep her voice level.

Her father’s face immediately hardens. “You _will_ read that speech—”

“I’m not reading that speech, daddy.” And in a fit of rage borne from the horror she witnessed just last night, Charlie holds up the paper with its handwritten notes and cruel promises, and tears it in two, letting both pieces flutter to the ground at her feet. 

“What did you say to me, girl?”

“I won’t read it.”

His mouth a tight line, President Shinra puts his cigar out, gripping his expensive leather belt in his hand, his knuckles white. “You’re damn bold for a girl whose brother isn’t here to protect her,” he begins, taking a few more steps closer to her. “Would you like to try that again? About the speech?”

Charlie stands her ground, her entire body trembling in fear. Maybe if she yells, Tseng and Reno will hear her begging for help, and maybe they would call for Rufus. Rufus would come for her. Rufus would save her from a beating. Even Tseng might be swayed after a few tears.

She shakes her head slightly, chin held high. “I’ll tell Rufus what you did to me,” she says, hoping that her threat works.

Instead, her father laughs. “Your brother has tried to have me killed more times than you know, girl,” he says, lifting the hand with his belt, “and yet _here I stand_.” 

He brings the belt down once, a test, not his full strength. Charlie bites down hard on her lower lip as it strikes her shoulder. She drops to her knees, biting down so hard that she draws blood. She will not cry, she will not cry, she will not cry. 

“If your brother hadn’t taken half your beatings when you were younger—” The belt comes down again, right on her shoulder blade, stinging a little harder, even through her clothes—“I might have been able to inspire a little _discipline_ in you—” Again, harder—“or maybe a little damn _respect_.”

President Shinra raises the belt high, and Charlie trembles, feeling eight-years-old again. 

* * *

Reno’s heart thumps wildly against his ribs with each _thwack!_ that comes from the interior of the president’s office. He counts them. One, two, three—and then the sound is lost, drowned out by a horrifying and agonizing scream that tugs at even _his_ cold heart.

When he can hear her muffled sobbing accompanying the brutal beating she’s receiving, he closes his eyes. 

He’s known Charlie a few years shy of a decade, and while she’s an annoying, condescending, bratty little tease, she must be the last person in the world who deserves the lashing she’s getting.

“C’mon, man, we have to go in there. We have orders to protect her,” he murmurs to Tseng, whose composure, he’s sure, has not yet broken. It won’t, not until he sees the condition she’s in afterwards. That’s usually how it goes. “We have orders to _keep her safe_.”

Reno opens his eyes to find Tseng looking right at him, unsurprised by his outburst, unsurprised by everything. “Not from him.” Reno catches him wincing as the belt comes down again, the sound ringing through his ears. “There’s nothing we can do.”

* * *

“Don’t worry. She’s looked worse.”

Reeve turns very slowly to look at him, the both of them standing at the end of Charlie’s hospital bed, the same bed he had slept in with her last night. There’s an incredulous look on Reeve’s face, softened by the exhausted and concerned expression that’s been there since Reno had brought her in. 

“Your adult sister was just beaten by your father in his office after barely escaping a terrorist attack last night,” he says, as if this is news to Rufus. “Are you incapable of feeling any sympathy?”

Rufus’s jaw clenches. Reeve has spoken out of turn, and he knows it, the color draining from his bruised face, looking like someone used him for a punching bag. 

The bastard could probably afford a few solid blows to the face, just to keep him humble. 

His fingers twitch, itching to wrap them around Reeve’s throat and choke the life from him, just to finally put an end to it all, even if the end is messy and careless and without any sympathy for him at all. It would be what he deserved after the way he had thrown himself at Charlotte, vulnerable and naive, taking her in her own childhood bed all those years ago. 

But Charlie would _never_ forgive him if he laid a finger on Reeve. 

“You’ve never seen her after a beating, have you?” Rufus asks sharply, trying to keep his voice low in an attempt to keep Charlie from waking in the middle of an argument between them. “I suppose you wouldn’t have. Father hasn’t beat her in years.”

It’s true, of course. After Rufus had made it clear to his father that he would take any beatings reserved for Charlie, President Shinra had relaxed a little bit, growing busier and not able to find the time to beat his children with the most expensive belts on the market. 

Beatings never worked with Rufus anyway, never inspired any sense of remorse or respect within him. It was all to protect Charlie. It’s always been to protect Charlie. If he had to take a few lashings in order to keep her pretty little skin untouched, he had no issue doing so. 

It had always been a terrible thing to see her afterwards. Her body bruises so easily, and it always has, and the bruises had always stuck out like sore thumbs all over her pale, milky skin. Sometimes the edge of the belt would strike her just right and set her to bleeding all over down her back, down her sides. 

But President Shinra refrained, for the most part, from hitting her face. Their father insisted on keeping her face pretty, at least, for fear that she would accomplish nothing if she looked less than perfect. 

Even now, her face seems untouched by their father. Her cheek is a little pink as if he swatted at her, but it’s hidden by the bruises and cuts that have adorned her face since the bombing last night. 

“No,” Reeve rasps, catching Rufus’s attention again. He can’t remember if they’ve ever had a civil conversation (alone) that’s lasted more than five minutes before. He thinks he would remember that, but doesn’t know that Reeve is exciting enough to actually be remembered by him. “There was one time, a few months after I met her.”

Rufus frowns, trying to think back. By Reeve’s timeline, that would have put Charlie at around seventeen. What had she done that warranted a beating? And where had _he_ been?

“Her entire back was black and blue, and your father’s belt buckle had bitten into her skin near her lower back.” Reeve folds his arms across his chest, watching her sleep, turned slightly away from them to keep pressure off her back. “It was me she came to. I won’t forget that night.”

He remembers now. Charlie and her wild mouth had brought up their mother during a heated argument with their father. “She didn’t come home all night. Father had the Turks out looking for her.”

“She was with me.”

Rufus cocks an eyebrow. “An underage girl walks up to your apartment late at night, and you just . . . let her in?” He narrows his eyes, but Reeve doesn’t falter, nor does she seem the least bit ashamed. “Hope you’ve since kicked the habit. Charlie would be severely disappointed.”

“You think I should have turned her away?” Reeve sighs heavily. “She came to me crying, and after showing me what had happened . . . I wasn’t going to send her back to your father after seeing that.”

Rufus grinds his teeth, thinking hard. He can nearly feel steam blowing from his ears. Looking down at his sister like this causes rage to burn bright in his chest. The desire to get back at his father and the desire to find out what Charlie could have possibly done to warrant this are his first priorities. 

Before taking his leave, he turns to Reeve and takes a step closer. Reeve is a few inches taller, broader in the shoulders, broader in the chest, bigger overall, and yet he seems to shrink before Rufus regardless. 

“If you _ever_ ,” he hisses, hating that he has to look up into Reeve’s eyes, “hurt my sister, I will put a bullet between your eyes myself. Understood?”

Reeve doesn’t seem cowed, only making him angrier. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

* * *

She doesn’t want to talk about it.

She’s never been one to over share, and the both of them are extremely guilty of internalizing everything to the point of silent suffering, he knows, but it’s dangerous to openly doubt Shinra Inc., especially in their position.

He knows she isn’t sleeping, and sometimes, when he comes home late at night, Charlie is still locked in her office, the light seeping through the small gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood flooring. 

She tries to climb atop him one night, startling him out of sleep, but in the end, she finds it too painful. He can’t find a place to put his hands that doesn’t hurt her, and something about making love to her in their expensive apartment overlooking the destruction of Sector Eight only days after he witnessed the aftermath of the reactor bombing doesn’t sit well with him. 

And then one night, about three days after the bombing, Charlie comes out of the bathroom in silent tears, looking down at him in bed as he reads, eyes skimming over the same sentence five times, comprehending nothing. 

“Reeve,” she says, very seriously, “do you still think I’m pretty?”

Of course he does, even if her face makes him cringe now. Her bruises are healing, changing colors across her slightly swollen face, and small cuts litter her soft skin. He tells her the truth of it, that he still thinks she’s beautiful, even though it seemingly does nothing to comfort her. 

She clenches her jaw, swallowing so loudly that he can hear it from the bed. “I refused to give the speech my father wanted me to.”

Reeve looks at her for a long time, closing his book and placing it carefully on the nightstand. “And that’s why he . . . ?”

Charlie nods, smiling tearfully. “Ask me how I feel about it.”

He hesitates, wondering if this is the concussion talking. “How do you feel about it?”

“ _Liberated._ ”

* * *

“You ignorant _,_ bottom-feeding _slut_. You _used_ me, goddamnit. You used _me_. Did you really think that was a good idea?”

“I didn’t—”

“Are you so incapable of following directions that you couldn’t build a simple bomb with the detailed instructions _right in front of you?_ ” she continues, pacing back and forth in front of the sofa painfully. Every inch of her body hurts. “I knew you weren’t listening. I knew that you weren’t going to be able to do it. _Gods,_ how _stupid_ can you be! You almost killed me! You blew half the sector! More than that!”

“I built that bomb _exactly_ like you said,” Jessie retorts hotly, voice shrill and grating on Charlie’s ears. She folds her arms across her chest. “If anyone here used _anyone_ , it’s _you_ that used us. Your bomb wasn’t like what you said it would be and you made us look bad—”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Charlie interrupts, using the best ‘president’s daughter’ voice that she can muster, which happens to be very, _very_ good after years of practice with incompetent employees. “My bomb was perfect. Do you want to know how I know? Because I don’t make stupid little mistakes like you do. My bomb was going to blow the _core_ of the reactor, and because of _your_ ineptitude, hundreds of people died, and you’ve cost the company millions of gil in damages, gil that could have been put towards things to help your slum-dwelling little friends.” She steps closer to Jessie, knowing that she likely doesn’t look very good, her face still healing. “Your ineptitude almost killed me and my fiancé, who spent the entire night cleaning up the mess _your_ ragtag, drunken band of vigilantes left behind.”

Jessie says nothing, and Pia sits still in her armchair, very used to hearing Charlie go on like this, but there’s still a hint of fear to her, which pleases Charlie immensely. Averting her eyes, Jessie has the grace to at least look ashamed.

“Tell me,” she continues, stepping closer to Jessie. “You’re supposed to be the good guys, aren’t you? So how many lives did _you_ save that night? Or did you all pat yourselves on the back and go home?”

Jessie turns her face further, to show Charlie her cheek. It’s clear that Jessie feels at least some remorse, but what had she expected? Did she really think it was smart to blow a reactor with a bomb she wasn’t certain would only disable the core? It’s her own fault for messing up. Charlie had given her all the instructions and explanations she needed. 

“Look at me,” Charlie hisses, and Jessie slowly brings her face around, looking at Charlie’s, eyes roving over the lacerations and bruises that decorate her face. “It hurts to eat, it hurts to talk, it hurts to walk, it hurts to sit and it hurts to lie down, I can’t have sex, I always have a headache, and every time I close my eyes, I can see people running in front of me with their skin on fire and I can hear the screams of the hundreds of people that you killed.” 

It’s admirable, really, how well Jessie keeps her composure. Charlie supposes that women must feel less threatened in her presence. Men are always so weak, doing whatever she says whenever she tells them to, but that probably has something to do with Rufus, and the known fact that he’s not above torture or murder or kidnapping or extortion—all through the Turks, of course.

“Because of you and your complete lack of understanding, my fiancé is being forced to work late into the night again in the hopes of rebuilding what you’ve destroyed of both Sectors One and Eight,” Charlie goes on. She could go on for the entire night. It’s not like Reeve will be back anytime soon, and it feels good to yell at someone about it. “I thought you were supposed to be professionals.”

“We are,” Jessie protests vehemently.

“Are you?” Charlie asks, narrowing her eyes. “Because we’ve got your number. You do realize that there are security cameras inside the reactors? You thought you could just waltz in unnoticed? You left a trail of dead bodies behind, Jessie, never mind the people you left to suffer in both sectors.”

Reno had shown her a little of the tapes. The film wasn’t exactly clear, but clear enough that she had been able to pick out Jessie without issue, unfamiliar with the other members, though one had seemed almost familiar . . . with a sword on his back that she hasn’t seen since . . . 

Well, swords can look alike, she supposes, and she hadn’t gotten a really good look at it, anyway.

“Who’s your hot friend, Jessie?” Charlie raises her eyebrows, watching the blood drain from the girl’s face. “He should probably lay low for awhile. Wouldn’t want anyone to catch him, would you? Never know _who_ might be wandering around the slums lately.”

The three of them are quiet for a long time. Shouting has definitely helped. Charlie feels much lighter than she had when she initially walked inside Pia’s top-side apartment, clear of the damage Avalanche’s bombing caused. 

“My father would have you all arrested,” Charlie says quietly, the rage lessening in her. It’s frightening, though, to have nothing besides the gnawing guilt in her chest. “He would have one member of Avalanche hanged outside each reactor, as a warning to anyone else willing to go to extremes. He would let your bodies _rot_ in order to make a point.”

“You’d be short a few people,” Jessie says, making Charlie blink in surprise. “Wouldn’t be enough for all the reactors.”

Charlie forces herself to smile, if only in appreciation for the girl’s tenacity. “I am risking _everything_ to help you,” she murmurs in Jessie’s face, smooth and clean and free of scratches, untouched by her own mistakes. “I’m risking my job, my livelihood, my _life_. I will not lose everything over a bunch of second-rate drunks who call themselves heroes.”

“Then I guess you don’t want to work with us anymore,” Jessie says with a soft sigh, taking a step backwards and sharing a nervous glance with Pia. How easy it would be to pull the gun from the back of her pants, to end it here and now, to declare to her father that she did _better_ than give a speech. “Guess that means we’re enemies again.”

“Don’t be a moron. I know how difficult it must be for you, truly.” Charlie exhales through her pointed nose, teeth gritted. “I want you to bring me all the tools I need for a bomb. I’m building it _myself_ this time.”

She can’t help but smile at the look of pure joy on both Jessie and Pia’s faces.

* * *

“Shut _up_ already.”

Cid clamps a hand down over the girl’s mouth, pushing into her and pulling out and pushing back in, closing his eyes. He should have known picking up some girl at the bar was a bad idea. It’s always a risk with bar girls, and this one, though skinny and flexible and a real sweet-talker, likes to make noises that do anything but turn him on, and her mouth is too wet when he kisses her, so he decides he’s okay with not kissing her anymore.

He had no intention of bringing home some fucking broad when he stumbled into the bar tonight. 

But she had slipped into the stool beside lonely ol’ Cid Highwind, no older than twenty-five, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink and a little bit of lipstick on her over-sized front teeth. 

And she’s blonde. He can’t help it that he’s got a weakness for blondes. 

It had been over the moment the girl flipped her hair over her shoulder, looking proud of herself as she said smugly, “People always tell me I look like Charlotte Shinra. You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Cid hadn’t been able to tell if she was mocking him or not. She seemed so fucking innocent, asking him that question like he wasn’t still hopelessly in love with the girl that ruined his life. 

So he had brought her home, the eager and excitable thing she is, and she had spent some time trying to get him off, and looking down to see the top of a blonde girl’s hair at his crotch had been intoxicating. In the dark, she could be Charlie . . . if she learned to keep her goddamn mouth shut. 

Cid flips her over, onto her stomach, trapping her between the bed and his chest. She doesn’t complain, and with her wild moans muffled by the mattress, he’s able to hear the noisy vibrations of his phone ringing on the nightstand. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, hips stuttering as he continues to slam into her from behind, wanting to reach out and thread fingers through that blonde hair, to pull hard, to tilt her face back and try to point out the noticeable differences between her and Charlie. “It’ll go off in a sec.”

He glances over towards his phone just to see who’s calling. It’s probably someone whose power went out or whose generator stopped running or someone who needs him to fix something. No one else would call so late—

His entire body tenses, his hips stop their movement, and his heart sinks into his stomach. 

“Is something wrong?” the girl asks him as he slips out of her, clumsily reaching over for his phone.

“Hang on—it’ll just be a minute—” He holds the phone up to his ear, hoping the girl has the decency to be fucking quiet while he’s talking to her. “Hello?”

There’s the sound of her hanging up, hanging up without speaking one goddamn word to him. Cid looks down at his phone again to make sure he hadn’t been imagining things. Pulling up his recent calls, he sees her name right there, right at the very top: _Lottie._

Glancing down at the girl, his cock throbbing painfully, Cid touches her name and puts the phone back up to his ear. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe she accidentally called him and only realized it was him when she heard his voice, but maybe it _wasn’t_ an accident. 

“What are you doing?” the girl asks him, pouting. “Get off your phone. You can’t stop now.”

“Just hang on a minute if you know what’s good for ya. This is important.”

The phone rings once, twice, three times . . . nine goddamn times before he’s sent to her voicemail. The beep lets him know that it’s recording, but he can’t find words to say, instead breathing heavily into the mouthpiece, probably leaving her the creepiest fucking voicemail she’s ever received. 

When he tosses his phone back onto the nightstand, he doesn’t really think he’s going to be able to finish. 

“Who was that?” 

“None of your goddamn business,” he snaps at the girl, the girl who looks absolutely _nothing_ like Charlie. “What’re you doin’ askin’ stupid questions for?” He rolls her onto her back again, looking down at her open body, her legs wrapping loosely around his hips. Cid shoves her legs off. “Get outta here.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the girl asks, getting angry, and Cid has to laugh because at least _something_ about her is similar to Charlie. However, the girl seems to think he’s laughing in her face. “You’re not even going to bother getting me off?”

“No,” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes as she moves around, gathering her clothes and dressing as quietly as possible. “Do it yourself. At home.”

She throws his own clothes at him, and then one of his own pillows on her way out, but Cid catches it with ease, leaning back against the headboard. 

Cid picks up his phone again, wondering if she’s listening to his creepy fucking voicemail, if she listened to him breathe at her for a few seconds. He wonders if he should try again—maybe she had been distracted, maybe she hadn’t seen him call, maybe she would answer this time, if he tried one more time, just to make sure—

A text comes through with a _ping!_ as he hears the front door of his house open and slam shut. His breath hitches.

_I did something that scared me. Are you proud?_

He can’t help but smile, sitting up a little straighter and letting his eyes wash over the words no less than ten times each. 

_Have to know what you did before I can say I’m proud._

Cid waits, pulling his pants back on and cleaning up the mess they’ve left his bedroom in. The blankets are hanging off his bed, one of his pillows has been thrown clear across the room. 

When Charlie’s message comes through again, he runs to his phone, though he’d never admit it to anyone. 

_If I told you, I’d have to kill you._


	17. Chapter 17

Charlie cries softly as he lifts her shirt to inspect her back, dragging smooth fingertips over the fading bruises. 

“Don’t worry, they’re healing.” Rufus grits his teeth at the sight of them, mingled with the injuries that had been caused by the bomb blast. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

He touches one lightly, but she shifts beneath his touch. “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hand away and lowering her shirt.

The idea of his sister being buried alive alongside other ignorant and unimportant people only to die with them still makes his heart race. If he had been in Midgar, if he had been president, no terrorist cell would dare attempt anything so bold. 

And to think, Reeve had _failed_ her. A better man would have evacuated her immediately, would have done everything in his power to secure her safety first before anyone else’s, would have dropped everything to make certain Charlie wasn’t in any danger before proceeding as he saw fit. 

Not only had Reeve failed to protect her from harm, but he had allowed her to wander among the streets in the hopes of saving some worthless people who didn’t need or want _her_ help. He had left her alone in the medical bay while she was hurting, had failed to comfort her while she cried alone in bed. 

She turns to face him, eyes unfocused. It had been the same when he spoke to Reeve earlier, unsure if the brute was even able to hear half of what he was saying. Even now, when he speaks to Charlie, it seems his words go in one ear and filter right out through the other, blinking at him like what he’s saying doesn’t make sense in the slightest. 

“Why don’t you come back to Costa del Sol with me?” Rufus asks her gently, sitting on the expensive leather sofa he bought for Charlie’s apartment, the apartment that he pays for and has been paying for since she first moved in. At least Reeve can’t say Rufus has never done anything for him. “You’ll be safe there, and relatively unbothered.”

Charlie shakes her head, smiling weakly at him. “I don’t have time to take a vacation right now.”

A vacation to her, a horrifying reality to him. She has no possible idea how lonely it can be at the beach house, all by himself, with no company save for his mutated pup, who can’t go with him to half the places in the resort town, anyway. At least when they had been children, he had Charlie to keep him company, to offer him comfort when he felt lonely. 

“Your boyfriend can handle it, I’m sure.” Charlie’s cat watches him moodily from the floor, considering clambering into his lap. Rufus scrunches his nose. He’s always hated cats, especially those strays that his sister used to bring home in Costa del Sol. “You’re Charlotte Shinra. No one can tell you when the proper time is for a vacation. Besides, you’ve just gone through such a terrible ordeal . . . wouldn’t you like to rest?”

“No,” she answers, almost too quickly. Her eyes widen when she looks up at his face again, having been focused on Cat. It’s a stupid name, but rather endearing, he supposes. “I’m . . . I’m tired of resting.”

Rufus’s face hardens. Perhaps Father might allow his permanent return to the city soon, if only to help Charlie through difficult times. It’s not like Reeve is doing a stellar job at it, he thinks bitterly. “What did you do to make Father so angry?” he asks, already knowing the answer. Charlie has only ever been beaten because of her mouth, never knowing when to stop talking. 

Charlie lifts her chin, looking just as defiant as their father seems to believe she is. “Do you have any idea what he wanted to do to any caught members of Avalanche?”

“Kill them, I suppose. It’s a fitting end, I think, considering how many casualties were borne from their want of attention.”

He thinks he sees something flicker in Charlie, but perhaps he’s just imagining things. “He wanted to hang them in front of the reactors, as a warning to anyone else who thinks to destroy them. And he wanted me to make that threat.”

Truthfully, Rufus can understand his father’s rationale behind something so gruesome, even if he doesn’t quite think he would go the same route. If Father wanted to send a message, he would have all known members publicly executed on a city-wide broadcast. 

Charlie runs a hand through her hair. “I should be getting to bed. Reeve should be home soon.”

“Does he always come home so late?”

“Sometimes.” She gets to her feet, holding a hand out for Rufus. He hesitates, accepting it and allowing his sister to pull him to his feet, but he doesn’t release her hand right away, despite Charlie trying to pull away from him. She looks at their hands. “He won’t be happy if he comes home to still find you here.”

“Why? Is he jealous?”

Charlie frowns. “He’s going to be your brother-in-law soon. The least you could do is be nice to him.”

“Like he would do anything about it other than sulk. If he lacks anything, it’s a backbone.”

“Don’t be rude, Rufus,” she scolds him sharply. “If he’s a little timid, it’s only because you and father treat him so poorly. Would it kill you to not threaten him everyday?”

“If he treated you the way you ought to be treated, I would have no reason to threaten him.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Why are you so convinced that he’s mistreating me? He’s been nothing but good to me since I first met him.”

Rufus huffs. “I don’t even think I’ve ever heard you say a bad word against him.”

“Nor will I.”

Charlie is beautiful in her rage, truly. She looks just like him, her pointed little nose and her light blue eyes and long eyelashes, the shape of her lips, the angle of her face. He used to think she was the prettiest girl he had even seen, back when he was young. He still thinks it now. 

She’s probably forgotten by now, or forced the memories away, but Rufus remembers. He remembers being seven, and telling Father he was going to marry her when they were grown, not realizing that it was wrong. Father didn’t like that one bit, and tried to beat the idea out of him. 

And once, Veld had caught them playing at kissing when they were just little kids who didn’t know any better. It had been Charlie’s idea, but Veld didn’t want to believe it of her, his innocent little princess, so the blame had been shifted onto Rufus. 

It’s not like there were any other children around for them to spend time with.

He remembers being beaten badly for it by his father, so badly that he had been confined to the house for fear others might see the condition of him. Charlie had cried for hours afterwards, and after Father had gone to bed, she had snuck into his bedroom to give him a soft and childish kiss on the mouth, sneaking out before someone was able to take her back to her bed.

And he remembers his heart racing after she kissed him, unaccustomed to such genuine and loving affection. 

Affection was always reserved for Charlie. Affection from their father and mother, affection from the Turks who always watched them while Father was away, affection from every man who ever breezed into her life, spoiled rotten with it. 

Gods, he resents her sometimes. 

Charlie sighs, glancing down at the watch on her thin wrist before looking back into his face. “Do you want to stay the night? I can make up the guest room, but if you say _anything_ unwarranted to Reeve, I’m kicking you out.”

“You can’t kick me out. I pay for you to live here,” he hisses. 

“ _Don’t_ antagonize him, Rufus. I’m serious.” Charlie raises her eyebrows at him, impressing her point. “He has enough on his plate right now without you making things worse.”

Rufus purses his lips. He’s made her angry now. “Fine, I’ll be all smiles and courtesy.”

She gives him a look like she doesn’t quite believe him. “Good-night.”

* * *

She’s watching television in bed, with Cat curled up at her side, when Reeve comes home around one in the morning. 

It’s late, even for him, but Charlie is tactful enough not to mention it. He heads straight for the bedroom, looking surprised to still see her awake. She gives their cat a few strokes on his head before he runs off, rubbing against Reeve’s leg before swaggering out of the bedroom.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he says with a tired smile, removing the cufflinks in his sleeves and placing them in the top drawer of their dresser. 

“I don’t mind,” she replies, walking up to him and helping him slide out of his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. “Rufus is here. He’s asleep in the guest room.”

“Fine,” Reeve answers, not at all sounding concerned or frustrated. It makes her sad, his lack of a reaction. It only proves that he’s been working himself lately to the point of exhaustion. “You need to get some sleep.”

“Speak for yourself.” 

She smiles up at him, loosening his tie deftly and sliding it off around his neck, unbuttoning his shirt and pressing a kiss to the divet between his collarbones before sliding his shirt off, as well. When she looks up into his face again, it’s to find Reeve a million miles away, staring slightly past her with his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Reeve?” she murmurs, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone standing there. He hardly even hears her, concentrating hard on _something_. Charlie waves a hand in front of his face. “Reeve!”

“Hm?” He blinks a few times, turning his gaze upon her face once more. 

Her smile is nervous. “Where were you?”

He shifts uncomfortably, giving his head as shake as she runs her fingers through his stiff hair, ruffling it so it all falls into his eyes. “Sorry,” he says. 

“Are you all right?”

It’s a loaded question and she knows it. Neither of them are all right after witnessing what they did, but they’ve been dancing around the subject for days now, the both of them uncomfortable bringing it up, instead discussing it in a more professional sense whenever she asks him how his department is doing lately. 

She hadn’t expected him to take it so hard. He seems almost completely unconcerned about the damage done to his reactor, more concerned about the massive loss of life that occurred in the course of a few hours. 

But it’s not like it was his fault. If it was anyone’s fault, it had been Charlie’s for providing an overconfident Avalanche member with plans for a bomb. 

Reeve smiles at her, exasperated, taking her hands in his own to kiss them once each. “I’m just glad that you’re all right.” 

It takes him a moment to commit, but he leans in and kisses her, arms wrapping loosely and gently around her, careful not to hurt her. She could never get tired of this, being swept into his arms, being held against his broad chest, messy and desperate kisses being her greatest source of comfort. 

If he knew what she had done . . . if he knew that she was the reason all of those people were killed . . . 

Charlie doesn’t want to imagine what might happen. He might leave her without hearing an explanation, or he might hate hate _hate_ her. She can’t stand to think about it, about this man she loves so much just abandoning her (for good reason). She can’t stand to think about life without him, a life that wouldn’t even be worth living anymore. 

She doesn’t think she’ll ever find the courage to tell him the truth. 

* * *

Why hasn’t he told her yet?

Ten years he’s known her, and almost half of those years he’s spent romantically involved with her. If there’s anyone who deserves the truth of things, it’s her. But why is it so hard? Why is it so hard to admit to her his . . . _whimsical_ little alter-ego, his dirty little secret, a confession that might break the trust between them?

He brushes the backs of his fingers along her sharp cheekbone, one arm underneath her. She sleeps soundly, as exhausted as he feels, her lips slightly parted to allow soft breaths to filter in and out, hot against his chest. 

She’s been taking sleeping pills, he knows. She hasn’t done that since . . . 

Tseng had been the one to tell him, all those years ago: “Charlotte is a liability.” Where Veld had failed, Tseng had picked up the gauntlet, making Charlie’s protection and the protection of her innocence a main priority, no doubt at the request of Rufus. 

He didn’t really know what Tseng meant back then, but he understands now, and understands why even Rufus has failed to tell his own sister the truth of her fiancé’s biggest secret. 

If she knew, Reeve isn’t quite sure what she would think. She might think him a traitor, might change her mind about him, might see him as just another executive at Shinra Inc. with too many secrets of his own. She might be horrified with him, betrayed and frightened and angry. 

But the truth is, he’s done _good_ things with Cait Sith. Surely Charlie would understand that, would understand that he was only doing with Cait what he couldn’t do himself. 

But she wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew everything, and he can’t tell her everything. Telling Charlie everything would mean risking her own life, pushing her further towards the edge until she defects in earnest from her family and her family’s company. 

When he thinks about all the things Charlie doesn’t know, it makes him nervous. If she _did_ know half the things her father was so adamant from keeping from her, it would break her. 

If she knew about Veld, about that SOLDIER she was always batting her eyelashes at, about the horrible experiments taking place in Hojo’s lab (and it’s a very real possibility that even _he_ doesn’t know the entirety of what’s going on in Hojo’s lab), Charlie might leave Midgar and never come back, turning her back on Shinra forever. 

And if she were to leave, Reeve is certain that someone would be sent after her, to silence her, to keep her from talking, to make a clean break with her before Shinra’s secrets could be revealed. 

He cranes his neck painfully to reach her lips, kissing her lightly to see if she’ll stir. She answers with a soft kiss, hardly awake, humming when he pulls away and falling back asleep, curled up in the crook of his arm with her face nuzzled against his chest. 

The burns on her neck are peeling and angry-looking, much better than the blistering burns on her side. He wants to kiss them all over, to ask her forgiveness for not being able to shield her from the blast, to beg her forgiveness for bringing her in the middle of the destruction and devastation. 

Maybe tomorrow he’ll have her pack her things, promising to bring her far away from Shinra, tucked away in a little corner of the world that they can make their own. 

Maybe, with her at his side, he can finally turn his own back on the company that has done nothing but beat him down into submission, that has turned him into a shell of the man he wants to be, that he used to be. 

Maybe tomorrow he’ll tell her the truth. 

But he’s been saying that for a long time now.

* * *

Charlie is gone when he wakes, and it’s Rufus who accompanies him to Headquarters, surprisingly pleasant, if not a little irritable, calling him “brother” in a horribly mocking way. 

She had offered to check the progress of his housing project in the Sector Seven slums, and he had ensured that a security detail followed her below the plate, as well as a Turk or two. 

That had taken most of the morning, and she had called him to report that everything was going well, and several men were already inquiring about construction jobs within his department in exchange for a roof over their heads. He could use all the construction members he can, seeing as several of his employees had been killed in the bomb blast. 

In the afternoon, Charlie busies herself with a memorial service by the destroyed reactor, lamenting the lives lost and holding hands with civilians and offering comfort to those that are grieving. The service is broadcasted live, and Rufus makes himself comfortable in Reeve’s office by stretching out on the sofa, the both of them watching the television quietly. 

It’s unnerving, his proximity to Rufus, knowing that Charlie is so far away that anything could happen by the time she returns. But Rufus seems transfixed by the memorial service, eyes never leaving the screen for a moment when Charlie is being filmed. 

The only words Rufus speaks during the service is after Charlie finishes giving the people a brief speech in which she offers her condolences, promising that something like this will never happen again, and that Shinra Inc.’s first priority is the peoples’ safety. 

Rufus turns to look at Reeve then, who’s seated at his desk, half-working and half-watching, replying to incoherent e-mails and responding to meeting requests and procrastinating in general. He lifts his eyes from his computer screen when he notices Rufus watching him, however, a twisted smile on his face. 

“She’ll make an excellent vice president,” he notes. “Don’t you agree?”

Reeve nods, agreeing completely, wondering why Rufus can’t go watch his sister from the television in his own office, which has been left abandoned for years. 

It isn’t a few minutes later that his assistant knocks on the door, entering without anyone calling her in. “Oh!” she says breathily, blushing at the sight of Rufus lounging casually inside the office. “Mr. Vice President! I’m so sorry, Director, I didn’t realize you weren’t alone!”

“It’s fine,” Reeve says quickly, noticing Rufus’s eyebrow jerk upwards much like Charlie’s. 

His assistant places some paperwork on the corner of his desk, looking over her shoulder at Rufus. “Forgive me, Director, but . . . shouldn't both of you be attending the board meeting?”

This catches both his and Rufus’s attention. “What board meeting?” Rufus snaps at her, and Reeve can only hope that he doesn’t scare his brand new assistant away. “What are you talking about?”

His assistant blushes harder. “I’m sorry, sir, I heard someone else discussing it and—and, well—I—”

“It’s all right. You can go,” Reeve tells her before she gives herself an aneurysm. 

When the door closes, Rufus sits up straight, looking thoughtfully at him. “A board meeting,” he muses, stroking his cleanly-shaven chin. “Are _we_ not part of the board, Reeve?”

Reeve purses his lips, not wanting to buy into anything Rufus may say to get a rise out of him. President Shinra is known to keep many things from his daughter’s future husband, and he’s used to not attending every single meeting, rather glad he doesn’t have to listen to whatever terrible things Shinra is plotting. 

But this doesn’t sit well with Rufus, who, rightfully, _should_ be at all board meetings as vice president. 

“I can think of one reason why neither of us are in attendance at that board meeting right now,” Rufus continues, and Reeve tries his hardest to ignore him, but it’s difficult to do so. “What’s the one thing the both of us have in common, _brother?_ ”

Reeve sighs, rubbing his temples. “Shit.” 

Rufus stands from his place upon the sofa, strutting right up to Reeve’s desk and splaying his hands upon the desktop, not concerned in the slightest about the papers he’s covering. “I know my father,” he says, and Reeve leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “If he’s holding a meeting without the both of us, he’s plotting something to do with Charlie.”

“What do you propose?” Reeve scoffs, his heart fluttering a little faster. “It’s not like we can just storm into the conference room and demand answers.” Rufus scowls at him, clearly unhappy with this. “Don’t make things worse for Charlie than they already are, please. You saw what your father did to her.”

“I’m not suggesting we break down the door of the conference room,” Rufus retorts coldly, as if that’s the stupidest idea he’s ever heard. “Are you forgetting I have the Turks at my disposal? All we need to do is get them to squeeze a little bit of information out of that incompetent, fat, sweating, stuttering—”

“Palmer?” Reeve asks, surprised. 

It doesn’t make much sense for Palmer to be involved in a meeting that revolves around Charlie, but nothing around here makes sense half the time. Besides, of all the other executives, Palmer is the last one he’s truly concerned about, the only one likely incapable of doing actual harm to anyone, even if he tried. 

Rufus looks almost delirious, too excited for a chance to squeeze information out of somebody. Surely he feels he’s been slighted by his father, or perhaps he really is driven by the desire to protect Charlie. “Maybe you’re actually as smart as Charlie says you are.”

Reeve exhales through his nose, unable to escape the vice president, but wishing he could. 

“What do you say, _Director?_ ” Rufus asks again, raising his eyebrows, extending a hand out to shake Reeve’s. “Truce?”

Reeve looks at Rufus’s hand for a long time before shaking it, firm and solid. “Truce.”

* * *

“What is the meaning of this! Let go of me immediately! I demand to speak to the—”

There’s a grunt as Palmer is pushed forcefully across the threshold of the door, stumbling into the Turks’ office, sweating profusely. “You don’t make demands here,” comes Reno’s voice, following Rufus into the dimly lit room. 

Palmer looks around, eyes widening, his suit too long for him, giving the impression that he’s drowning in the coarse fabric. Reeve is leaning against Tseng’s desk, a little uneasy about going through with this, but at the sight of Palmer looking so frightened of him and positively _small_ makes him feel a little bit better. 

“Director . . . Mr. Vice President . . . please . . .” Palmer says, reaching into his breast pocket for a handkerchief, using it to mop his shiny forehead, but Reno swats it away, drawing a gun and pointing it at the director. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but the president will—”

Rufus walks right up to Palmer, standing shoulder to shoulder with Reno. It’s a rather impressive and intimidating sight. “What was that, Palmer? The president will _what?_ ” Rufus hisses, bending over to put his face mere inches from Palmer’s. “Tell me what you talked about during the board meeting. Did you talk about Charlie? Did you talk about my sister?”

“I—I—I—I—”

“You stuttering _prick_ ,” Rufus growls, seemingly at ease with the world, Reno’s gun held out to point directly between the sweating man’s eyes. “Hit him.”

Reno doesn’t hesitate at all, and the butt of the pistol in his hand makes contact with Palmer’s forehead with a loud _crack!_ followed by blubbering sobs. His skin immediately begins to bruise, reddening against the creases in his forehead. He rocks back and forth on his feet, falling onto the sofa.

Reeve watches, quiet. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when Rufus suggested they extract some information out of Palmer, but he should have known better, he supposes. Besides, if it gives him information about Charlie that could possibly help her, then Reeve can throw his non-existent morality out of the window for a few minutes. 

Palmer, unfortunately, appeals to Reeve for help. “Director, please—! You can’t let them—”

“He’s not going to help you, Palmer, you pathetic little man. I’m talking to you, so look at me, not him,” Rufus interrupts coldly. “What did my father say about my sister? _Talk._ It truly doesn’t matter to me whether you live or die.”

Palmer’s chest heaves, and he drips sweat all over the sofa, eyes darting from Rufus to Reno to Reeve to the door and back again. His entire body seems to tremble, his face drained of all color, the bruise on his forehead very pronounced against ghostly white and almost sallow-looking skin.

“The VP asked you a question, goddamnit,” Reno adds, nudging Palmer’s second chin with the tip of his pistol. “If I were you, I’d answer. I got a jumpy trigger finger.”

“All right, all right! I’ll talk!” Palmer shouts, and Reno gives him another nudge. Reeve can feel his heart hammering, afraid that he’s going to receive news about Charlie that he would rather not hear. “He—he’s going to blame her for the reactor bombing—”

Reeve speaks before he can stop himself, straightening to his full height and moving closer to Palmer, standing on the other side of Reno. “What? Why would he do that?”

“He knows—he knows that she had something—could you _please_ put your gun down!—he knows she had something to do with it,” Palmer continues breathlessly, backing into the sofa cushions as if hoping to melt away. “He’s going to use—to use her as a—a scapegoat—Avalanche’s top informant—he’s—going—to—” Reno presses the gun harder to his quivering jowls—“disown her—someone needs to claim responsibility!”

“Avalanche bombed the reactor,” Reeve protests, understanding very well why neither he nor Rufus were invited to sit in on this particular meeting. “Not Charlie. Why would he want to blame her?”

“Am I supposed to know the way the president’s mind works?” Palmer squeals, whining and crying, swallowing loudly. “He—he’s angry about the speech—he’s going to have her give a— _not_ so hard, please!—another speech claiming responsibility—”

“Charlie almost _died_ in that bombing!” Reeve turns to look at Rufus, who’s quiet for once. He thinks so hard that steam nearly blows from his ears, his eyes narrowed to slits. “He can’t make her claim responsibility! It’s not true!”

“Remember where you are, Reeve, and what _truth_ counts for among the executives of Shinra Inc.,” Rufus says through gritted teeth, glancing at him. There’s something bitter about his tone that suggests Rufus isn’t quite as happy with Shinra as he sometimes pretends to be. “He wants someone to pin the bombing on, and then he’ll have someone to punish if it happens again.”

“They won’t believe that shit,” Reno scoffs, giving Palmer a slight break by pulling the gun back a few inches. “She’s down there right now, giving babies kisses and crying with the other survivors.”

“Quiet,” Rufus says quickly, “I’m thinking.” He taps his chin with a long, spidery finger. “What else did my father say?”

“He knows—he knows—” Palmer continues, wringing his hands together. “Avalanche is going to—to—they’re going to blow mako reactor number five—”

Reeve’s heart sinks. “What? When?”

“Tomorrow—it’s going to happen tomorrow—”

Rufus turns to face Reno, his face stony. “Did you know about this?”

Reno’s jaw clamps down tight, and he shakes his head as Palmer continues, squealing like a pig. “He’s going to—to have Charlotte read the speech afterwards—oh, please don’t kill me!”

“Isn’t the president going to do anything about it? Heidegger? Anyone?” Reeve asks quickly, and Palmer’s eyes move sickeningly around the room, nearly rolling into the back of his head. “They’re not just going to allow the reactor to blow, are they?”

Palmer closes his eyes tight, nodding. Rufus, in a wild rage, grabs the gun from Reno’s hand and presses it hard against Palmer’s forehead, nostrils flared and his cheekbones slightly red. “Tell me, Palmer, if I let you walk out of here, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”

“Go back to my office—”

“You’re not going to go running to my father, are you?”

“No, sir, no, I swear it, I’ll not tell a soul what happened here—”

“If you talk,” Rufus says lowly, angrier than Reeve can ever remember seeing him, “you’ll have to deal with the three of us, and you wouldn’t last a second against the three of us, you incompetent _fuck_.” He stands up straighter, de-cocking the gun and shoving it hard against Reno’s chest. 

Palmer nearly sprints from the room, tripping over the several chairs set around the conference table, breathing loudly on his way out. 

The three of them are quiet for a moment. “Somethin’ tells me Charlie ain’t gonna be happy about this,” Reno finally says, breaking the silence. 

“I’ll deal with my father,” Rufus replies, brushing off the front of his suit and looking up at Reeve. “ _You_ deal with my sister.”

“You don’t think Palmer will say something?” Reeve can’t help but worry. The idea of Charlie receiving another severe beating from President Shinra makes his heart race painfully fast, tired of seeing her covered in bruises and injuries. “I told you not to make it worse—”

“Don’t worry,” Rufus reassures him, anger flashing bright in his pale eyes. “Father won’t hurt her ever again.”

* * *

“That went well,” Charlie sighs, stepping into the heated building and out of the cold, Tseng at her side, “even if it _does_ look like a war zone.”

Tseng hums. 

“And construction below the plate is going so well. I didn’t realize how quickly it would be built.”

“People are eager to have a roof over their head, I think,” Tseng remarks, and he’s not entirely wrong, she thinks. “If you don’t need anything else, Charlotte, I do have some work to do.”

Charlie smiles at him. “I think I’m okay. Thanks for coming today.”

Tseng’s lips twitch. “Anytime.”

She sighs heavily, watching Tseng make for the staircase to lead him to the elevator. 

It had felt good to walk around the parts of Sectors One and Eight, to inspect the damages and see the destruction caused while offering comfort to those injured, displaced, and grieving. They had welcomed her appearance with welcome arms, had cried and applauded her hopeful speech, and while it had tugged at her heartstrings to see what she had done, it felt good to know that she could still commit to fixing things, to making it right, and with the bomb built for the next reactor (scheduled, according to Pia, for tomorrow) guaranteed to only blow the core, she’s feeling slightly more confident about her subtle warfare against Shinra Inc. 

As she starts up the stairs towards the elevators, she catches sight of someone very familiar running down them, looking at the ground and breathing heavily. 

“Reeve?”

His head snaps up and he stops abruptly, gripping the railing so tight that his knuckles are white. His face is so pale he might have seen a ghost. “Charlie!”

Charlie allows him to kiss her hard on the mouth in the middle of the staircase, taking care to place his hands in a safe area. “What are you doing? Are you all right?” she asks, looking him over with wide eyes. “Why are you sweating so much?”

Reeve sighs, running a hand through his slick hair and glancing around to make sure they aren’t in anyone’s way. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course,” she smiles. 

“It’s important.”

“I’m listening.”

“Could we speak _privately?_ ”

“Oh, yes please,” Charlie says, continuing to beam at him. She takes his hand, faltering at the nervous look on his face. “Reeve, what’s wrong? You don’t look well.”

“I’ll explain everything in a moment. Why don’t we go home for lunch?”

“You going to make me something? I’m starved.”

“Yes, yes, anything. Just . . . come with me.”

And without offering her any other explanation, he drags her by the hand back down the stairs and back out the front doors without so much as looking back once. 


	18. Chapter 18

“My . . . father said that?”

He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. He had been afraid of her reaction, half-convinced she wouldn’t believe him. 

Charlie shakes her head, retracting her arms from around his neck and taking a few steps back. She only stops when the backs of her thighs bump against the foot of their bed. “Then Palmer was lying,” she insists, looking far more panicked than he thought she would be. “My father wouldn’t do that to me. He said he was going to make me vice president.”

“Charlie, you know what your father is,” he tells her as gently as he can, moving forward. “Look at what he did to you, what he _has_ done to you.”

“And he’s just going to let the reactor blow?”

Reeve sighs. “I only know what Palmer was able to tell us—”

“Us?” Charlie asks him sharply, eyes widening. Hadn’t he told her he wasn’t alone? Should he confess to her that her own brother was probably very disappointed he didn’t get the chance to shoot Palmer? “What do you mean? I thought Palmer told you this.”

“It took some . . . aggressive convincing—”

She catches on quickly enough. “It was Reno, wasn’t it?”

“And your brother.”

Charlie looks away from him, clearly distressed. The very sight of her looking so fearful distresses _him_ , not used to seeing her so worked up about something so openly. “Disown me,” she repeats quietly. “What does that mean? He’s going to take away my money? Fire me?”

He tries to give her a reassuring smile, but he’s nervous himself, and he’s sure it comes across that way to her. “We’ll be fine without your father’s money,” he tells her, touching her shoulders lightly. “I’ll take care of us, don’t worry. I have bigger concerns at the moment.”

“Like what?” Charlie’s eyes are wide. “The reactor? You want to try and stop it?”

“There’s no stopping it now,” Reeve answers sadly. “Charlie, your father wants to punish someone for Avalanche’s disaster, and he wants to punish you for it, but Avalanche isn’t going to care.” He gives her a little shake, his heart racing again. “They’re going to count it as a win and continue on with their plight, and I don’t want to risk more bombings or more punishment.”

At this, Charlie scoffs, but it’s anxious and uncertain. “You think my father would execute me for their crimes?”

 _Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._ “I don’t know,” he lies, hoping that it’s the truth. “But I don’t want to risk it. I can’t let him do that to you.”

She shakes her head again, looking far more confident than he feels. “My father would never do that,” she says. “He would make a martyr out of me, and he knows it. And Rufus . . . he would never allow my father to do something so heinous. _Tseng_ would never let my father—”

“Tseng?” Reeve interrupts, pulling away from her. “The same man who stood outside your father’s office and did _nothing_ while you were being beaten?”

Charlie falters, her cheeks taking on a pinkish hue. “He wouldn’t let my father _kill_ me. He’s been protecting me since we were teenagers.”

“Please listen to me,” he continues, hoping to get off the topic before he snaps at the mere memory of the bruises that adorned her back afterwards. “Why don’t you get out of the city for a little while? You can take my mother to Kalm. She’ll like that. I’ll find a place to rent for you short-term, and I’ll join you when I can—”

“What?” Charlie retorts, bewildered and angry all at once. “No! I’m not leaving Midgar, and I’m especially not leaving without _you!_ ” She scoffs again, struggling to find words. “I’m not just going to run away and leave you behind.”

“Charlotte, please. What happens when Avalanche decides reactor bombings aren’t enough? What happens if they decide to eliminate Shinra completely? Starting with your father, your brother, and _you_?”

“No,” she replies, and he knows there’s no changing her mind, but he still needs to be able to say he tried. “I’m staying here, in Midgar, with _you_.” His disappointment and frustration must show on his face, because Charlie raises a hand to touch his cheek. “I’ll be okay. So long as Rufus has the Turks wrapped around his finger, nothing will happen to me.”

Reeve runs a hand through his hair, touching her wrist to bring it to his mouth, kissing the soft skin there very gently. “I’m not trying to be a hero. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“That’s a shame,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck again, their chests flush together. “I like heroes.”

His heart sinks. If there’s one thing he will _never_ be, it’s a hero. 

“It’s not _funny_ , Charlie.” He reaches behind his neck to unravel her hands, watching her entire face fall, her small and tremulous smile fading quick. “You may not value your life, but I do.”

Charlie stiffens, pulling her hands away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can’t make me go. If you want me to leave, you’ll have to come with me.” Thankfully, the corners of her lips quirk upwards again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. We’re in this together now.”

He knows that’s the truth, not that he’d ever want to be rid of her. He softens at the sight of her lovely smile, embarrassed about the way his mind had jumped to the worst possible scenario, but how could it not? He doesn’t really think President Shinra would subject his own daughter to torture, or a public hanging like he wants to do with Avalanche, but a quick and clean break . . . a swift end to it, once and for all . . .

“What are you thinking?” she asks him. 

Reeve sighs heavily. There’s nothing more he can do. “Why didn’t I marry you a long time ago?”

She giggles. “I’d like an answer to that, as well.”

He kisses her then, kisses her like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance. She responds eagerly, clinging to him, gripping the front of his shirt, already working on loosening his tie. 

When Charlie is able to unbutton most of his shirt, giving her enough leeway to slide her hands across his chest, kissing his throat, she backs away from him, grinning coyly. 

“Unzip me,” she says, half a command. 

His hands move of their own accord, taking hold of her hips and squeezing, smiling when she squirms, laughing softly as his fingertips dig into her skin. 

“Charlie . . .” he sighs, very serious and very exasperated. It’s all a joke to her. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Charlie replies, slightly irritated. “I can take care of myself. Even if something were to possibly happen, the Turks would save me.”

Reeve can’t quite understand how she can be so confident and nonchalant about it. Her unwavering faith in the Turks unnerves him—they’ve always been a shady bunch, and to think of Charlie as a child, being nannied by trained and professional assassins and spies, seems far-fetched, almost laughable. 

To be sure, she’s known them for years, even longer than he’s known Charlie. Tseng is comfortable enough around her to call her by her first name, Reno is insolent and known to overstep, and both Rude and Charlie are prone to quiet gossip. There had been a young girl that Charlie had liked, too, who sometimes went with her to the training rooms to watch some SOLDIERs put on a show. 

But imagining the Turks—imagining _Tseng_ —defecting from President Shinra for the sake of Charlie’s life . . .

Perhaps he’s just overthinking. It wouldn’t be the first time. With everything going on due to the destruction of the first reactor, and subtle preparation for the damage Reeve knows will come tomorrow, he's hardly slept, hardly eaten, and the memories of that night come creeping back whenever he closes his eyes for a second. 

The loud ringing of his phone brings him out of his reverie. His hands are still on her hips, and when he answers his phone, Charlie slips a hand under his shirt again, watching him. 

It’s only a call from his assistant, reminding him of a meeting he has in fifteen minutes. Has it been that long already? 

“I have to go,” he tells her, buttoning up his shirt again reluctantly, frowning at her mumbled protests. “I’ll probably be late tonight.” Reeve lifts his eyes from his buttons to her face to gauge her reaction. It’s one of disappointment, but he had been expecting that.

“How late?” she asks.

He pauses, knowing that, even if he tries to leave early, something will force him back. “I’ll try to leave no later than nine.” It’s a half-hearted promise. 

“Okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

Charlie smiles knowingly. “Okay.”

* * *

 _Disown_ her?

The idea is terrifying, truthfully.

Who is she without the Shinra Electric Power Company behind her? Without money to give away, she is no longer generous and kind and compassionate. Without a job to do, she is no longer comforting and reassuring and professional. Without her father’s support, she is nothing, just a girl who likes to make jokes and rebel against her family’s reputation without thinking of the consequences. 

And to think, Reeve thought he might convince her to escape to Kalm, to wait for him in a rented house with his mother, knowing that he might never leave the city. Despite all of his talk regarding the shortcomings of Midgar, she knows that Reeve is fond of the city, and would likely never leave if given the choice. 

Besides, she isn’t going to wait for anyone any longer. 

She had waited years for her mother to return before accepting that she was gone forever. She used to think that, one day, her mother might turn up on the steps of their family home and things would go back to the way they were, when her parents still loved each other.

She waited years for Veld to return, as well, to call her “little princess” one more time in his gruff voice, remembering days spent as a little girl, curled up in his lap to sleep against his chest while he did work at a desk in the basement of President Shinra’s beach house. 

She remembers all those nights she had waited for President Shinra to come home to her and Rufus after long business trips, remembers waiting for Reeve to come home from surveying trips, remembers waiting for Rufus to sneak back into their home after spending the night with his little pup on the beach in the dead of night.

She remembers a dark-haired SOLDIER, promising he’d be back before she knew it, but he had never returned either. Instead, Tseng had shown up to her apartment in the dead of night to deliver a solemn message, spending half the night with her to offer Charlie all the comfort he had been able to give her. Comfort, but no answers. 

“. . . _reached the office of Charlotte Shinra, Director of Communications at Shinra Electric Power Company . . ._ ”

Charlie huffs, taking the front stairs two at a time. “Come on, Pia, answer the damn phone.”

She hangs up and tries again.

“. . . _please leave your full name, ID number, and a phone number so we can reach you_. . .”

She pushes her way past several low-level employees to board the elevator first, tapping the number 59 rapidly as everyone looks on, annoyed. 

When she finally makes it to her office, it’s to find Pia not at the desk. A red light blinks continuously on the phone, indicating several missed calls and voicemails. One of her desk drawers is cracked, but nothing else seems out of place. 

When she enters her office, it’s to find Reno sitting behind her desk, hands behind his head and his feet propped up on the desktop. 

Charlie puts her hands on her hips, glaring at him as he smiles sweetly, too innocently. “Where’s my assistant?” she snaps. 

Reno sits up, his feet coming to rest on the floor with a _thump!_ “Probably in a cell,” he answers casually, getting to his feet. “Your lovely, young assistant has been arrested.”

Charlie’s jaw clenches. “On what grounds?”

“Conspiring with Avalanche, of course.”

“I demand to see her,” she continues, huffing impatiently and making Reno smile wider. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Charlie.” Reno clicks his tongue, approaching her with his shirt partially unbuttoned and his hair a disheveled mess. He throws an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his body. “She already admitted it.”

Charlie feels her heart sink. “What? What did you do to her?”

“Look,” Reno says again, ignoring her question completely. With his arm still around her shoulders, he leads her to the small window that overlooks the dark and unfinished part of the city that is Sector Six. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Charlie?”

“Some days, yes, I suppose we’re sort of friends.”

He rubs at the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “All right,” he sighs. “We’re like family, then, aren’t we? You may hate me most of the time, but I know that, deep down, you have a soft spot for us Turks.”

Charlie thinks for a moment. “That sounds about right.”

“So, if you have _anything_ to confess to, you can see why confessing to _me_ would be a good idea.”

“So you can throw me in a cell with Pia on some false confession?” Charlie scoffs, removing Reno’s arm from around her shoulders. “I don’t think so.”

“Is that what you think of me?” Reno scoffs teasingly, splaying his hand over his freshly broken heart. “It wasn’t _me_ that arrested her, if you must know. It was Heidegger.”

“And how did he know to arrest her?”

“Hey, I’ve gotta keep some secrets of my own, y’know.” He leans closer to her, having too much fun. “Charlie, you know that any secret you confide in me is locked in the safe forever.”

“No secret of mine is safe from Rufus if I spill to you. Besides, I have nothing to confess,” she hisses. “I want to talk to Pia.”

Reno smiles again. “Don’t worry, princess. Rude and I will handle that.” 

* * *

“Pia, I need you to tell me _exactly_ what you told Heidegger.”

Pia trembles from the other side of the square table, the single lamp illuminating the damage that’s been done to her. Both of her eyes are bruised, and her hair is greasy and tangled and falling on either side of her face, looking like it’s been a week since she last showered. Charlie is afraid to know what the rest of her body looks like. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Shinra, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s all right, Pia,” Charlie insists, reaching across to hold Pia’s badly shaking hand. She doesn’t pull away, instead squeezing as hard as she can, lacing their fingers together. “Please, I need you to tell me what you told them. I need to know.”

Tears slip down Pia’s cheeks. “Is _he_ watching?” she whispers.

“No,” Charlie answers, knowing exactly who Pia is talking about. She glances to the side mirror, where she knows someone _is_ watching from behind it, but it’s certainly not Heidegger. “Reno and Rude are, though. It’s all right, Pia. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“I told them about the bombing tomorrow,” Pia explains tearfully, in a voice that breaks Charlie’s heart. “I told them that Avalanche was going to take out reactor number five, but that’s it, I swear it.”

“I believe you,” Charlie whispers. “Did any of the Turks hurt you?”

“No, ma’am. They never laid a finger on me.”

“Good. Listen, Pia, my father is going to let them go through with the bombing. They’re going to be walking themselves right into a trap.”

Pia’s eyes widen, but her lips stay stuck together. It frustrates Charlie, and she doesn’t want to say too much that might give both Reno and Rude the idea that Charlie _knows_ too much. It seems that Pia understands, hesitant to say anymore, however, with others listening in and watching. 

Reno’s voice comes in over the speaker above them. “ _We gotta go, Charlie. We can’t sit here all day._ ”

Charlie hesitates. She doesn’t think Pia would lie about it. If Pia had confessed that Charlie had been the one to build the recent bomb, surely she would have been thrown in a cell already. “I’ll come back for you,” she promises her assistant, who continues to cry into her hands, bruised and bleeding all over. “I won’t let them keep you here, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m _so_ sorry, Pia—”

“It’s okay.”

Charlie doesn’t think it’s okay at all, but she doesn’t have time to argue. 

Reno ushers her from the small, windowless room while Rude hurries Pia back to her cell, muttering something about deleting footage while Reno “yeah yeah yeah”’s him. 

Before Charlie and Reno go their separate ways—she with much to think about—she stops him. They linger outside the glass elevator, and Charlie sighs. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

She smiles weakly at him. “If my father tried to kill me, would you let him?”

He laughs. “What is this? Some kind of test or somethin’?” Reno folds his arms over his chest, covering much of his exposed skin. “What happens if I give the wrong answer?”

“Just answer the question, would you?”

Reno scoffs loudly, dramatically. “I’m insulted that you think you even need to ask. And here I thought we were friends.”

“What about Rude?”

“C’mon, Charlie, be serious. And that’s comin’ from _me_.”

“Fine. Would Tseng let my father execute me?”

Reno falters, whatever answer he had suddenly dying on the tip of his tongue. “What is this?” he asks her again, sounding thoroughly annoyed this time, like a big brother tired of his kid sister. “What are you asking me for? If you wanna know so bad, just go ask Tseng yourself.”

“I just thought I’d get _your_ opinion.”

“Yeah? When has _my_ opinion ever meant shit to you?” he asks, mocking. Charlie’s pout is able to coerce a smile back onto his face. “How long’ve you known Tseng anyway?”

“I don’t really know. It’s been so long,” she answers honestly. “Since we were teenagers, at least.”

Reno chuckles, holding up a hand in farewell as he takes a step back from her. “Even _I_ don’t think Tseng is _that_ heartless.”

Charlie watches him go, her heart heavy with guilt, and she can almost hear her father’s words, nudging at the back of her head.

_Tseng’s a good and loyal boy, but he’s not Rufus’s friend. He’s a Shinra employee._

She’s spent half her life complaining about the Turks, one of the only constants in her life. As little as she trusts some of them (though most of them are gone now, many of them disappearing under mysterious circumstances), the Turks who are left have been part of her life for years, long enough for Charlie to consider them almost family. The dark suits they wear are almost a comforting sight to her now.

She shouldn’t trust them, but she needs to. As annoying as they can be, meddling in nearly every affair of hers, she has to trust that they’ll protect her, that _Rufus_ will order them to protect her, if it does come down to it. 

* * *

She had to have been around fourteen when she first met Tseng, and he no older than eighteen or nineteen at the most. 

He hasn’t changed much since that time. His hair has gotten longer and his face has thinned out, he’s a little less soft-spoken, and he’s certainly grown into his position as leader of the Turks. 

Charlie watches him from over the top of her magazine, a magazine that she hasn’t really been reading at all, too busy thinking. If he notices her watching or wishes her to leave him alone, he says nothing, continuing his work in the low-lit office of the Turks, which is currently empty save for the two of them. 

She’s only here to hide from everyone who might need her. No one will ever walk into the Turks’ own space just to ask her some stupid question that Pia could answer for her (though with Pia in a cell right now, it’s rather annoying to do all that work by herself).

He’s her favorite, enigmatic though he can be. He’s not so serious that he can’t be cracked, and teenage-Charlie had taken great pleasure in trying to make him smile and laugh, always feeling victorious upon seeing him bear his teeth in a small smile, laughing at her ridiculous antics when it became too much. 

“You either have something you’re dying to tell me,” he says suddenly, startling her, “or there is something on my face.”

Charlie smiles behind her magazine, his eyes never leaving his work. “How does it feel, as the leader of the Turks, to be reduced to babysitting duty half the time?”

At this, he lifts his eyes, almost looking amused. “Babysitting duty, in regards to you, Charlotte, is far more exciting than you might believe. I’m not going to complain of my duties.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’ve done an excellent job. I’m still alive, anyway.”

Tseng gives her a small smile before lowering his pen to his paperwork again. 

“You wouldn’t call Rufus by his first name, would you?” Charlie asks him, watching his pen hesitate before signing his name. “Not to his face, at least.”

He looks at her for a moment, expression betraying nothing. For all the years she’s known him, he’s still impossible to read unless he _wants_ to be read, which isn’t as often as one might think. And as for him calling her ‘Charlotte’, it’s been so long that she can’t really remember when that started happening, though she suspects it happened around the same time that Tseng had delivered news about her SOLDIER. That was the first time he had comforted her as a friend, or as close to a friend as he could get. 

There are two reasons Charlie can think of as to why Tseng might refer to Rufus as ‘sir’ all the time, never thinking it appropriate to act friendly with her brother. Tseng either respects Rufus too much, or is frightened of him. The idea of him not respecting Charlie enough or not being frightened of her is . . . disheartening. 

“Forgive me,” he tells her, stiffening in his chair. “Miss Shinra.”

“No,” she replies heatedly, blushing. The name sounds foreign coming from him and she immediately despises it. “You don’t . . . I don’t like that. Not from you.”

“Very well.”

“Can I pitch you a hypothetical situation?”

“Does this have anything to do with the loyalty test you gave Reno earlier today?”

Charlie traces her tongue with her teeth. If Reno were here to smile smugly at her, she might be annoyed, but it’s difficult to be annoyed with Tseng, especially after all he’s done for her. “Have you always been this insolent, Tseng?”

He smiles again, hardly abashed. “Would you call it insolence?”

She smiles wide, happy to have cracked him. “Well? I’m sure Reno prepped you. Have you studied for my test, Tseng?”

“And this is purely hypothetical, is it?”

“Unless you’re privy to information that I’m not, then yes, it’s all hypothetical.”

“I think I’m privy to a great deal of information that you’re unaware of,” he replies, scribbling his name on another piece of paper, setting it aside, and then setting his pen down beside it. “In your hypothetical situation, is your execution warranted?”

Charlie shakes her head. “I want to know what you think I could possibly do to _warrant_ being executed by my own father.”

“I wouldn’t pretend to understand the motives of the president.” Tseng tucks some of his dark hair behind one of his ears, extending and curling the long fingers on his right hand to stretch them after writing for so long. “I would not be too concerned, if I were you. Your brother has taken extraordinary measures to keep you safe.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“That’s the answer I’d like to give, and it’s a better answer than Reno gave you earlier, I think.”

Charlie doesn’t press him, instead lifting the magazine to her eyes again, trying to read the article in front of her face, but her eyes trace over the same line again and again and again, listening to the scratching of Tseng’s pen against his paper. 

* * *

There’s nothing that can be done.

President Shinra is going to let them blow the reactor to make a statement.

Charlie and Reeve watch the live broadcast from his office, curled up together on the leather sofa, her back resting against his chest as she clings to his hand with painful strength. Her face is bloodless and white as a sheet, her hands trembling and the rapid beating of her heart almost audible (though that very well could just be his own heart).

President Shinra has long since cut the audio, but everyone else in Midgar is likely watching the three eco-terrorists infiltrate the reactor, cutting down innocent workers and fresh recruits being used as low-level security (he wishes Charlie would look away, but knows that she won’t), destroying Shinra’s (Scarlet’s) prized technology and seemingly oblivious to the whole city watching them.

There are three of them that make their way into mako reactor five, only one of them fleetingly familiar, the same young woman who had allowed him and Charlie use of her bar in the Sector Seven slums when they were still in the planning stages of construction. 

With her is a big man with a gun for an arm (he has _so_ many questions about this that will likely go unanswered forever) and another young man with a sword on his back that, surprisingly, Charlie seems to recognize. 

After it being completely silent between them for nearly fifteen minutes, Charlie lifts a finger to point at the television screen when the yellow-haired boy pulls the sword off his back, the cameras catching a clean shot of it as he swipes at some robotics that catch them off guard.

“That’s Angeal’s sword,” she says, so sure of herself, almost sounding offended. “He has Angeal’s sword.”

“You would know better than I,” he murmurs in return, not having meant to sound so bitter about it. 

Truthfully, Reeve doesn’t really recognize the sword as anything special. He knows little enough about weapons to properly admire it, and while Charlie probably knows less, if she says it’s Angeal’s sword, then he believes her. 

Her perfect SOLDIER, her dark-haired hero—a failed and doomed romance that had consisted of shy smiles, an increase of her time spent near the training rooms, hushed conversations when they passed each other in the hallways or in the recreation room or cafeteria, never lasting more than a minute. Even with the mighty war-hero Sephiroth at his side, Charlie never had eyes for anyone else.

He had been sent to Wutai at the first sign of something real brewing between them, never to return home to Midgar, much to Reeve’s pleasure. It only serves to make him feel guilty, however, remembering how many tears she had shed over her little hero while _he_ was parading about with that slum girl in a petty and childish attempt to make her jealous and relieve many of his frustrations.

“Why does he have that sword?” Charlie asks impatiently, as if expecting the boy on screen to give her an answer. When no one is able to answer her, she settles into a brooding silence again.

The closer the three Avalanche members get to the core of the reactor, the more he begins to panic, glancing out his window every few seconds to see if it’s blown already, to see if the broadcast is slightly behind. The reactor stands tall, a few helicopters circling it at a relatively safe distance, shining spotlights down at the base of it. 

Part of him worries that the explosion will be worse, bigger, than many more casualties will be inflicted in Avalanche’s plight for peace, destroying everything and everyone in their way to create a world they’ve only ever dreamed of. 

Don’t they realize what they’re doing? Don’t they understand how many lives are at stake? Don’t they realize that Shinra Inc., while shady and ultimately a power-hungry corporation, takes _care_ of the people by providing them with necessary services and a level of comfort not found in any other place around the world?

“Director Tuesti?” comes the nervous and quavering voice of his assistant. 

He hadn’t even heard her knock or open the door (if she even did either of those things), and her dull eyes travel the length of Charlie’s body before continuing, legs spread out on the sofa, tangled up in his arms, not even paying attention to the woman in the door.

“What is it?” Reeve asks, fixing his eyes upon the television screen again, the three freedom fighters coming dangerously close to the core now. 

“The President wishes to see you, sir. It’s about the reactor.”

Charlie moves quickly, sitting up and turning around to look at him with wide, sad eyes. Reeve smiles at her. “Very well,” he answers, not bothering to look again at his assistant when Charlie’s face looms so close to his own. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Yes, sir. Very good.”

When the door to his office closes again, he takes Charlie’s face in his hands, her hairline shimmering with cold and nervous sweat, chest rising and falling underneath her blouse, tilted forward enough to allow him a gratuitous (but appreciative) sight down the front of her shirt. 

“You have to leave,” he whispers raggedly, earning himself Charlotte’s full attention. “Charlotte, I can’t bear it—”

“It’s too late for me to run away,” she insists. They had argued all of last night about it, as well. “I’m staying, if you are.”

“Charlie, please.” He brushes his thumbs across her cheekbones, looking at her for a long time. “You can’t possibly read that speech. You can’t possibly claim responsibility for this. The entire city is watching the people who are really responsible.”

“I’m not going to,” she replies. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll handle my father. Don’t keep him waiting.”

He’s displeased, but it’s the best he’s going to get from her. 

Reeve kisses her, feeling her lips curl into a smile against his own. 

It almost feels like he’s walking right to his death when he makes his way up to the topmost floor, where he’ll likely be forced to witness the destruction of another one of his reactors. He regrets leaving Charlie alone, wishing he’d had the hindsight to station a Turk outside his office door, or at least called her brother to explain his misgivings. 

Even if Rufus dislikes him, he wouldn’t be able to ignore his concerns about Charlie. 

He inhales deeply outside the President’s office, taking a moment to gather himself before stepping inside. 


	19. Chapter 19

“You asked to see me, Mr. President?”

“Ah, Reeve, yes, come in.” President Shinra gets to his feet, putting out his cigar and gesturing towards two fully-armed security guards that close the door behind Reeve, remaining inside the office with them. On every screen within the office, the broadcast of Avalanche’s crimes of terror play, following them deeper into the reactor. “I apologize for having you come on such short notice. I know your department must be in complete disarray right now.”

They aren’t alone. Heidegger stands behind the president’s right shoulder with his hands held behind his back, his face lost in the tangle of hair he calls his beard, and Scarlet stands off to the president’s left, arms folded over her chest, arrogant and haughty and always, _always_ sneering. 

“Of course, sir. It’s not a problem. Charlotte and I were watching the broadcast in my office.”

“It has come to my attention that my own daughter’s assistant was spotted regularly entering the supposed hideout of Avalanche, in the Sector Seven slums,” he continues, almost amiably, and Reeve’s palms begin to grow clammy. He curls them into fists as his heart sinks. “What was her name again?”

“Pia, sir,” Reeve supplies helpfully when no one else is able to give President Shinra an answer.

“Whatever the girl’s name is, I’ve had her arrested, and Heidegger was able to coerce a confession out of her.”

Reeve’s heart stutters, leaping into his throat. He knows how Heidegger would “coerce” a confession from someone, and it makes him sick to think of Pia brutally beaten, tortured, and interrogated, possibly by the Turks that Charlie has such a soft spot for, whether she wants to admit it or not. 

She’s so young, so wide-eyed and innocent, and surely can’t have been working with Avalanche. How could no one have known? How could _he_ not have known? 

But then again, he’s always wondered why Charlie was so attached to the girl. Charlie has always had trouble getting along with other women around her age, save for a few exceptions, but Reeve had never noticed anything about Pia that Charlie would have particularly _liked_. 

When Palmer had given them the information they required, Reeve hadn’t once doubted Charlie. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that she might actually be in league with this ragtag group of eco-terrorists.

He doesn’t want to believe it of his own fiancée, but now that it’s been spoken aloud, the idea doesn’t seem quite so far-fetched. 

He would have known . . . he would have known if Charlie was plotting alongside her assistant . . . then again, there’s so much time unaccounted for, all the hours he had worked late and left Charlie at the apartment by herself.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, Reeve?” Scarlet asks, raising one of her eyebrows and adjusting the plunging neckline of her dress. 

Reeve looks away, keeping his face as stony as possible when he faces the president again. “I can assure you that Charlotte had nothing to do with the bombings, Mr. President,” he implores them all urgently, knowing that he’s walked right into a trap, but unable to figure out what part _he_ plays. “She was with me the night of the first bombing, and she’s in my office now. She had nothing to do with this.”

Scarlet laughs, that grating laugh that he hates so much. “You’ve always been a cute, lovesick little thing,” she remarks, flicking her neck to get the hair out of her face. “You should see yourself now, caught with your pants down.”

“Enough, Scarlet,” President Shinra snaps at her, making her scowl behind his back. “The boy is still to be my son-in-law soon, so long as his intentions haven’t changed upon the learning of this information.”

“No, sir,” he confirms, holding his hands behind his back, as if he would say anything else in this position. It wouldn’t be right to stand in front of President Shinra, Heidegger, and Scarlet and _not_ defend the love of his life, despite his confidence being shaken. He can’t believe it of her, he can’t, he won’t, he _can’t_. “And I trust that she would be able to explain herself if you gave her the opportunity. If you could just tell me what Pia said, I’m sure I can—”

“The girl said enough that makes no matter,” Heidegger adds, waving a flippant hand at Reeve. “She knew too much for Charlotte not to be involved in some capacity.”

Reeve’s breath hitches. “Is there any concrete evidence to prove Charlotte was involved at all?”

Neither Scarlet or Heidegger say anything more, but continue to smile cruelly from behind Charlie’s father. President Shinra sighs, brushing off the front of his suit, golden rings tight around his thick fingers and glittering in the fluorescent lighting. 

“My daughter thinks she’s infinitely smarter than me,” he sighs, as if having a genius daughter is a burden to him. “And, it may be true in regards to some things, but she believes herself to be invincible, as well. She wants to be a hero, to sit atop Shinra Incorporated with her head held high while the rest of us drown beneath her. It’s what she’s always wanted.”

He can’t say it’s an entirely wrong assessment of Charlie. 

“But she has made one grave mistake, and that is forgetting the leverage I have against her.”

Reeve opens his mouth to speak, hesitating at the last moment. “I—Mr. President?”

“I’m sorry to have to do this to you, son,” he says after a moment, and Reeve opens his mouth to speak, but the president speaks over him before he gets a chance. “Seize him.”

The guards at the door move forward, taking hold of Reeve’s arms and forcing them behind his back. “What are you doing?” he shouts, struggling against the guards, who slap handcuffs around his wrists. “What are you going to do to Charlie?”

“Don’t worry, my boy,” President Shinra reassures him, picking up his cigar again. “Char will do as she’s told, so long as we have you. When she decides to cooperate, to claim responsibility for the bombings, then you’ll be released, unharmed and able to go home to my daughter.”

“She had nothing to do with this!” Reeve protests, red-faced and continuing his fruitless attempt at freeing himself as the guards drag him backwards from the office. “Leave her alone! Mr. President, please!”

President Shinra ignores him, lowering his eyes back to his desk, puffing on his fat cigar, and both Scarlet and Heidegger’s laughter follow him into the hallway. Before the doors close before his very eyes, he can hear the president speak once more, in a rather bored tone of voice.

“Have someone fetch my daughter.”

* * *

The last time she had seen him was in the cafeteria, wearing his typical uniform, carrying around that massive sword, and flanked by some friends, excusing himself from them to slide into the booth across from Charlie as she ate lunch and finished up some paperwork for the _Highwind_. 

“I’ve been called away on an assignment,” he had told her, very seriously, but there had been a hint of a smile on his face. She still hasn’t forgotten what his face looked like the last time she saw him. “I’ll be gone for a little while.”

“Will you write to me?” she had asked in a low voice, blushing when she had noticed his friends watching them. 

“If I have the time. I’ll take some pictures for you,” he answered honestly. “I’ll be back before you know it, and then I’ll take you on a real date.”

“How are you so sure that I’ll say yes?”

He had tapped the tip of his index finger against his temple, smiling at her. “See you soon.”

But Angeal had never come back, never sent her any letters, never sent her any photographs he had taken, and everyone around Headquarters suddenly stopped talking about him, like he had never even existed. 

When Tseng had finally brought her news, knocking on her front door late at night a few weeks after they departed for Wutai, it had been only to explain that Angeal was missing-in-action, presumed dead, unable to give her any more information than that. 

She had cried into his chest for _hours_ , feeling betrayed and abandoned and alone.

That was seven years ago.

So why, all these years later, is she looking at someone completely unfamiliar, breaking and entering into a mako reactor to blow it up with _Angeal_ ’s sword on his back?

True enough, the sword had passed hands before, to another SOLDIER that he had been fond of, but that still doesn’t give her any new information, it only serves to make things more confusing. It’s entirely possible that another buster sword had been crafted in the seven years since Angeal’s death, but the resemblance is uncanny. She would know.

She’ll have to ask Tseng when she gets the chance, if any more information has been uncovered in the last seven years. With all that’s transpired in that time, there’s surely something else that would give her some closure, or that would explain the sword on the terrorist’s back. 

Part of her can’t even help but root for them, having watched the three of them fight their way through Scarlet’s new toys, destroying each one with sheer willpower and an extraordinary talent for fighting, planting Charlie’s bomb at the core with all the cameras watching, bickering silently amongst themselves as they attempt an escape. 

And a short while later, after the terrorists seem to make said escape, the broadcast cuts out to static, there’s a low rumble and the ground seems to quake beneath her feet. Charlie’s heart begins to race and she pulls her feet up off the carpeted ground, hugging her knees to her as the sky brightens through the drawn blinds. 

_Not again!_

She closes her eyes tight, listening to the blast, her heart beating impossibly fast. It had all happened so quickly last time that things had gotten mixed up in the confusion, and with Charlie having been knocked out, she missed a lot of the immediate aftermath.

_No, no, no, this is impossible,_ she thinks, gathering the courage to get to her feet, listening to the shouts from outside Reeve’s office, desperate workers who are probably rather tired of repairing a city that insists on being half-destroyed at all times. _I built that bomb, it was only supposed to disable the reactor, not . . . not this . . ._

Charlie peeks through the blinds, her breath fogging up the window. It’s hard to tell if this bombing is bigger than the last, but the entire reactor seems to go up in flames, casting the shadow of Midgar in an orange glow that frightens her. 

Flames are spreading fast, engulfing the surrounding residential area in fire. Charlie remembers the screaming, remembers people running up and down the street with their hair and clothes on fire, remembers the depressed skulls of those that had been crushed by the debris. 

_My fault. This is my fault, it’s all my_ —

“Miss Shinra?”

She whirls around, struggling to digest the scene, struggling to understand anything, struggling to accept what’s just happened. This must be a dream, and in a minute, she’ll wake up and the reactor will be disabled with no collateral damage. 

Reeve’s assistant pokes her head through the door again. It’s been nearly forty minutes and he still isn’t back, but forty minutes doesn’t seem an unreasonable amount of time with the president, especially given the current situation. 

“President Shinra requires your presence in the press room,” she says again, and Charlie glances back at the television, phasing into a news segment with a sweaty-looking anchorman, a live video of the reactor in flames tucked away in the corner. 

It’s odd, not being able to hear the screams, to feel the flames against her face, to feel the sweat drip down her back, but she’s certain she’ll dream of it tonight. “Okay,” she whispers, glancing into a mirror to attempt to make herself look slightly more presentable, slightly more confident and aloof. 

She had known this was going to happen, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

She isn’t going to let her father force her into giving a speech that would ruin her reputation. There was a reason she wanted only to meet with Pia and Jessie, afraid of her identity being found out by other, more extreme, members of Avalanche, afraid that her little secret would get out and have her killed. 

But now . . . after two separate bombings that had both gone horribly wrong (how could it have gone so wrong? she had built the bomb herself this time), causing hundreds, _thousands_ , of deaths . . . Charlie thinks her death would only be fair. She never meant for it to happen this way, and without proper time to find her bearings and accept what’s just happened in the last few minutes, she isn’t sure she has the courage to defy her father for much longer.

Charlie finds her father, Heidegger, and a few other unimportant men inside the press room, only necessary to work to the cameras and other tech. Heidegger looks almost _gleeful_ , his fat stomach straining against the buttons of his cheap, ugly coat, teeth bared in a feral smile. 

She’s unable to see mako reactor five from this part of the building, instead overlooking Sector One, still half in ruins from the previous bombing. President Shinra is holding a few pieces of bright white paper, fresh ink still drying on them, and he offers them to Charlie when she enters without a single word. 

Her hands are shaking, her palms are sweating, but she takes the speech in her hands. Glancing down at it, already knowing that she’s not going to read it, Charlie skims over the information, some of it having been crossed-out and re-written several times, other parts underlined, the handwriting only halfway legible. 

She had known this, of course, thanks to Reeve. She had known that her father would expect her to stand in front of Midgar and accept responsibility for the destruction that was caused (and now, she’s beginning to think that maybe it _was_ her fault, after all), despite everyone having just watched the culprits on live television. 

“Read this, girl,” he commands her quietly, “and then we’re going to have a long talk about your future with this company.”

Charlie inhales deeply. Rufus would defend her, Rufus would urge her on. Rufus would do far worse than say ‘no’ to their father if he was given the chance. “No,” she says. “I’m not reading it.”

“I’ll not have your defiance tonight,” President Shinra snaps, clearly more frustrated than he’s letting on. “Your assistant was arrested for her ties to Avalanche, and I do not believe that you were ignorant to that.”

“I’m hardly surprised,” Charlie continues, scrunching her nose and scowling at Heidegger. “Anyone who’s been tortured for a significant amount of time will eventually give a false confession to put an end to it.”

“I _will not_ be taken for a fool!” her father shouts, clearly making all of the camera operators very uncomfortable and white-faced. “You _will_ read that speech, claim responsibility for your foolish mistakes, and so long as I live, you will _never_ have another say as to what goes on in this company—”

“I’m not reading it!” she counters, catching the president off guard. “The entire city just saw what happened, and you would still have me lie—”

“The city of Midgar will see Shinra Inc. cutting ties with Avalanche’s top informant, _publicly_ ,” President Shinra interrupts, speaking loudly to drown out the sound of his daughter’s voice. “The people of Midgar will see a corporation taking action against those eco-terrorists, and I will put a swift end to your defiance once and for all. Your brother isn’t here to protect you this time, Char. Read the speech.”

Charlie purses her lips, wondering what her mother might do, wondering what Angeal might think if he could see her now. Would he think her actions noble? Honorable? 

“No,” she replies in a level voice, gripping the papers so tightly in her hands that they crumple and shake visibly. 

President Shinra sighs. “I didn’t want to resort to this.” He nods at one of the guards standing by the door, and when the door opens, Charlie’s heart sinks all the way to her stomach. “Bring him in.”

Scarlet follows the guards that usher in a handcuffed Reeve, looking at ease with the world. Charlie has eyes only for him, though, admiring the way his face betrays no hint of emotion, admiring the way he still stands tall, suppressing all fear, all anxiety, looking as if this is just a minor inconvenience in his life. 

His hair has been touched, as if someone ran a hand several times through it, strands of it falling into his eyes as he’s shoved unceremoniously into a chair beside the biggest camera positioned directly in front of the podium where Charlie typically gives her speeches. On his left cheekbone is what looks to be a smearing of bright red lipstick, the same shade on Scarlet’s lips, no doubt intended to infuriate Charlie even further. 

The sight of him makes her chest tighten painfully. It’s her fault, all her fault, everything is her fault—

“Let him go,” Charlie growls at her father, unable to look away from Reeve, each guard keeping a firm hand on either of his broad shoulders to keep him in the chair. “He has nothing to do with this! He did nothing wrong!”

“Read the speech, Char,” her father says again, stepping up behind Reeve. 

Charlie looks at Reeve for a long time. His jaw is set, his eyebrows furrowed, his body stiff and tense. She wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around his neck and apologize, burying her face against his skin and kissing every warm inch of it. 

“Please, daddy, don’t hurt him,” she rasps, ashamed to be so vulnerable with everyone in the room—her father, Heidegger, Scarlet . . . even Reeve. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“That’s not up to me. Whether or not he leaves here is entirely up to you,” President Shinra says. “Now, read the speech, we’ll have our little talk, and I’ll send you home with Reeve, to think about what you’ve done.”

Tears well up in her eyes, stinging and burning and, finally, falling. They’re hot against her cheeks, and Reeve seems to soften, but continues to say nothing, his hands cuffed behind him, sitting tall with as much dignity as can be afforded him. She had never considered that her father might use Reeve against her, and that knowledge is incredibly painful, striking at the heart of her insecurities, even if that had never been her father’s intention. 

“ _Char_ ,” her father says again, growing frustrated now. There’s a soft click that makes Charlie’s ears perk up, only to find one of the guards holding a gun to the back of her fiancé’s head, his hand incredibly steady. “Read the goddamn speech.”

“Please don’t hurt him, papa,” she cries softly, trying to ignore Scarlet’s quiet tittering, wishing that Reeve would talk to her, would smile at her just to let her know it’s all right, just to let her know that he won’t hate her when they go home tonight. “Please don’t—”

“Then read,” he orders again, nodding at one of the cameramen, who’s a little pale. “And let’s try it without the tears, Char.”

* * *

He’s fucking around in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator several times before deciding there’s nothing he wants to eat, when Shera calls him from the living room, sounding so shrill and so shocked that it makes him _panic._

Cid sprints to the living room, an unloaded gun in his hand, sweating by the time he appears in the threshold, expecting to find some armed intruder carrying Shera through an open window. 

“Put the gun down,” she urges him, moving over on the couch to allow him space, “and come listen to this.”

Charlie is on the television, having just begun a speech. Cid lowers himself slowly to the couch, immediately noticing that something is off. Even Shera seems to notice something. It’s hard not to.

He isn’t proud of it, and Cid would tell all of his friends that it’s a lie, but he watches all of her speeches that he can. She’s always done up real fancy, her hair done all nice and her makeup smeared all over her face. She’s usually smiling, too, in a way that might comfort the people of that smog city, or at least looking hardened and professional.

She is none of those things tonight.

Her eyes are bright red, and she isn’t wearing as much makeup as she usually is, especially considering the fact that much of her eye makeup is smudged underneath her eyes, like she’s been crying. Her face is bruised up and there’s a few scratches on her pretty skin that look tended to.

“What’s wrong with her? What’s she keep lookin’ at?” Cid asks, watching her eyes flick between the camera positioned in front of her, and something slightly off to her left, eyes watering even more. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

“. . . about the recent bombings in Midgar of mako reactors one and five . . .”

“ _Bombings?_ ” Cid scoffs, blinking in surprise at Shera, who only shrugs at him in return.

“. . . it was me who ordered the destruction of those reactors,” Charlie continues, breathing raggedly as she looks off-screen again for a moment, “and I am the one responsible for the thousands of lives claimed in the aftermath . . .”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Cid says again, remembering what Charlie had texted him about the other night, about doing something that scared her. Could she have meant this? Does he really believe Charlie is capable of something so violent, so extreme, so absolutely insane? “She’s gotta be lyin’.”

Shera shushes him impatiently, giving his arm a sharp _thwack!_ “Listen!”

“. . . for several months, I have been working alongside the eco-terrorist group called Avalanche as an informant, passing information from my position within the Shinra Electric Power Company . . .” He watches a few tears slip down her cheeks, but she wipes them away with her sleeve quickly. “. . . in the hopes that I might usurp my father’s position as president, I was willing to sacrifice the lives of many innocent civilians, with no thought as . . . with no thought as to the irreparable damage I might cause to families, to people trying to survive . . .”

Cid and Shera watch in complete silence, their lips slightly parted. This doesn’t sound like Charlie at all. It sounds like something Charlie would say with a gun to her head, and the tears certainly give credit to this idea.

“. . . I will accept whatever punishment is deemed fit, though I know it will not be enough for me to repent,” she continues, swiping at her eyes again, still looking slightly off-screen to something no one else is able to see. “. . . I am not asking for forgiveness . . .”

“What the _fuck_ is goin’ on—”

“Captain, listen!”

“. . . my actions have caused undeniable harm, both to Midgar and to Shinra Incorporated, and I accept full responsibility for all damages inflicted . . .”

“Fuck it,” Cid rasps, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “I’m gonna find out what the hell’s goin’ on.”

“. . . I’m so sorry . . . I’m _so_ sorry,” Charlie breathes, sobbing as the broadcast cuts away to a recording of the bombing, a mako reactor going up in flames and a burst of glowing energy. 

_This can’t be what she meant,_ Cid thinks. Cold and unflinching? Yeah, he guesses she’s those things. 

But a terrorist? A cold-blooded mass murderer? No. There’s no way. 

* * *

_If you say anything to her, make sure it’s sweet, son, because they’ll be the last words you ever speak._

He’s forced to watch her cry through her speech from his chair, the cool barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. It takes all of his strength to remain calm, not wanting Charlie to see him panic. 

The worst part is not even being able to reach out and hold her, to comfort her. It’s the helplessness, listening to her beg for his life, listening to her beg her own father for mercy in a room full of the people she hates the most. It’s watching Charlie sacrifice everything she’s worked for just for _him_. 

If it were Rufus in his position, he likely would do anything to get to her. He would crawl on his hands and knees, bleeding all over the flooring from multiple bullet wounds, willing himself not to die until he reached her. Rufus would not have agreed to stay silent, and his last words to Charlie likely would have been something sentimental, the only woman Reeve thinks Rufus has ever truly, genuinely loved, a softer and kinder and prettier version of himself. 

Charlie’s pilot would have done something, _anything._ Charlie’s SOLDIER would never have allowed her to destroy her entire reputation over one man’s life. Even her Turks (despite all the complaining she does about them) would at least _try_ to put an end to this madness. 

Not that he hadn’t been tempted in spite of President Shinra’s warning, tempted to call out to her and tell her not to do it, that he wasn’t worth it, that he wouldn’t watch her reduce herself to nothing over him when there were others, younger men, kinder men, that would love her just as much.

Scarlet had had her fun, raking long and sharp nails through his hair to give his head a few sharp and painful yanks while his hands were tied, smearing lipstick clumsily on his cheek as he attempted to turn away from her, and it was all for the sole purpose of further humiliating Charlie, laughing that horrible laugh the entire way to the press room and expressing the desire to see his fiancée executed on television. She had said it to get a rise out of him, he's sure, the entire time hoping to see him break, to see him _angry_ , but he had refused to rise to the bait, not wanting to do anything that could possibly endanger Charlie. 

The moment the camera turns off, the pressure against the back of his head is gone, and President Shinra orders one of the guards to uncuff him. His wrists are chafed raw after his futile attempts at slipping out of the cuffs, bright red and stinging, but the pain is nothing to him a few seconds later, when Charlie pounces, wrapping her arms tight around his neck and sobbing into his skin. 

She shakes in his arms, fragile and utterly ruined, clinging to him like letting go would mean certain death, the most vulnerable and truest version of herself he’s seen since the days that followed her failed rocket launch. 

This girl, stripped of everything because of _him_ . . . it seems unfair, wrong, and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Take my traitor daughter home,” President Shinra commands him, and Reeve’s grip around Charlie tightens, half-afraid that she’ll be taken away from him. “And keep her there. You can pack up her things tomorrow and bring them home to her.”

“Papa, please—”

“Enough,” President Shinra snaps. “Get her home, son. _Now_.”

* * *

Charlie cries the entire way home, curled up in the backseat of the car he had called to take them back to their apartment. 

He has _so_ many questions, the first being _what can I do?_ and the second being _what the hell is going on?_ However, he isn’t sure now is the time to ask either of those. She’s completely hysterical, incoherent, and he doesn’t want to sound like he’s accusing her of anything, but goddamn it, he needs _answers_ after having a gun held to the back of his head at the urging of his fiancée’s own father. 

What he’s not expecting, after all that unexpected nonsense, is to find someone is already _in_ his apartment, sitting on the sofa like he owns the place. 

Reeve hates the way his chest tightens when Charlie runs to Tseng as the Turk gets to his feet, throwing herself at him and sobbing still louder. He holds her by her upper arms, looking fully prepared to shake some sense into her, but he’s patient with her, always patient with her, trying to decipher what she’s saying while making no huge effort to calm her down. 

He excuses himself for a moment, just to be alone for a few seconds and regain his bearings. Reeve braces himself over the bathroom sink, looking in the mirror. He makes a feeble attempt at combing his hair back into place with his fingers, wiping the smudge of lipstick off his cheek with a hand towel. 

He hadn’t really believed President Shinra would use him in such a way, but now that he thinks about it, it makes perfect sense. Charlie would do anything for him, and everyone knows it, knows that she would sacrifice her life for him if it came down to that. 

It had frightened him, the coward he is, but he can’t dwell on it, not while Charlie is crying on Tseng’s shoulder in their own living room, explaining through sobs what had happened. He can’t quite make out what Tseng is saying to her, but it seems to calm her down a little. 

“Please . . .” he can hear her begging him, and several crude images float in his mind’s eye that could be associated with such breathless pleading, none of them making him feel any better. “For me, Tseng,” she says again, her voice needling at the back of his mind. “Please, for me . . .”

From their bedroom, he can hear the sirens and bullhorns going off in Sector Five, emergency crews going in to evacuate survivors and tend to the injured. The sound of helicopters fills the air for a moment as they fly from the Shinra building over their apartment complex towards the burning reactor. The sector is completely dark from where he stands, able to see the edge of it from up high in their penthouse, the power completely lost. 

He has to go back if he wants to help, but he can’t leave Charlie like this. 

Not that she would mind. Tseng is here, and she’s probably already forgotten that her own fiancé is pacing in their bedroom, jealous and angry and bitter, petty and afraid and confused, feeling harassed and distressed, unsure whether or not to be upset that Charlie had taken things too far, hadn’t taken things seriously enough. 

It’s not her fault he was put into such a position—it’s her father’s, and Reeve understands that, understands that nothing is off-limits to President Shinra, including extortion. He knew that, when he became romantically involved with her, it could be dangerous, but he hadn’t cared, unwilling to be scared away from the only bright spot in his dull and pathetic and lonely life at Shinra Incorporated. 

He whirls around when the door opens, taking in the sight of Charlie’s puffy and swollen face, her bright red cheeks and glossy eyes. 

She smiles tearfully at him, tremulously, but it doesn’t last long. Reeve moves swiftly across the bedroom to comfort her, to hold her, never having been more thankful for such a small and simple thing. 

It’s _his_ chest she cries into, his chin coming to rest atop her head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing her temple, the warm skin by her ear, the corners of her teary eye. “Charlie, I’m so sorry—”

“Why are _you_ sorry?” she asks, pulling back slightly to tilt her head back, the better to see his face. 

He hesitates, blushing. “Your job and—and everything that happened—”

“I don’t care about that right now,” she says quickly, scoffing up at him. “I just care about you.” She brushes off the front of his suit jacket, adjusting the lapels with trembling fingers. “It was all my fault—”

“No, no, no—”

She grips the front of his jacket, holding him close, his arms still trapping her against his chest. “I know that you probably can’t leave fast enough,” she tells him, and he almost laughs in her face, for it’s so far from the truth, “but will you at least let me make my case first?”

Reeve smiles in spite of everything, thankful the windows are closed to keep the screams and cries of citizens out of their bedroom. “I’ve had ten years to leave, Charlie,” he answers. “I’m not leaving you now.”

Charlie looks doubtful, childish almost. She reaches up to touch his face with her fingertips, as if unsure if he’s real or not. “I’m giving you an easy out, to leave before something horrible happens to you because of me,” she breathes, breath coming shakily. “Don’t play the hero.”

“I thought you liked heroes.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

She says it so baldly, so plainly, that it catches him off guard. He won’t pretend that he hadn’t imagined President Shinra dragging him out back after Charlie’s speech to shoot him like a wounded dog, if only to add some salt to her wound. 

“I promise,” she continues, tears welling up in her eyes again. Has she always looked so sad? so tired? so beaten down? “I won’t be angry with you.”

“No,” he tells her again, firmly. “I’m not leaving.”

She smiles weakly when he swipes at one of her tears with the pad of his thumb. “You were so brave,” she says softly, looking less like an empty shell and more like the woman he knows her to be. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for that to happen.”

Reeve takes her wrists gently in his hands, lowering them from his face. Does he ask now? Does he ask at all? How does one ask their fiancée if they’re involved with a terrorist cell without sounding cold-hearted? 

“Are you all right?” she asks again, eyes roving over his face as if inspecting for damage. “Did they hurt you?”

“Only my pride,” he confesses, sighing dejectedly. “I’m fine.”

“I was so scared.”

“I know. It was very flattering.” He kisses the corner of her mouth. “But don’t worry about me. I’m not worth it.”

She frowns. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so . . . _depressing_ , and he regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth, instinctively leaning away from her. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Please don’t go back tonight. Stay here, with me.”

Hesitating, Reeve releases her wrists to run his fingers through his hair. “I have to go back. Half a sector is burning as we speak.”

“Then have Tseng go with you,” she pleads, holding onto his lapels again. “Please, he’ll make sure nothing happens to you—”

“You’ve assigned me a bodyguard?”

He’s glad to see her smile a small, cute little smile. It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for the moment. “I’ve assigned you a _Turk._ He owes me several favors, and I’ve traded them all in to make sure you come home to me tonight.” She purses her lips. “It would make me feel much better to know you had someone keeping an eye on you.”

It sounds so forced, her effortless humor not quite so charming and endearing. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“I won’t be alone,” she replies, “Reno and Rude are already on their way over.”

Reeve tenses, having a hard time feeling irritated when she looks so positively distraught. “I don’t think I like that.”

“We can switch, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I think I’d like that even less.” He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . very anxious.”

“You always are.” Charlie kisses him softly, a hand splayed over his heart. “Reeve,” she whispers, and he can’t deny how sweet it is to hear her say his name, “I promise you, you will never be put in that situation again.”

Upon hearing the sound of their front door being opened and closed, the stomping of feet against their lacquered hardwood floors, and the sound of voices as Reno and Rude join Tseng in the living room, Reeve decides its time to return to Headquarters, having spent enough time with Charlie to say he feels rather confident that she’ll be all right until he returns. 

“Don’t touch anything,” he warns Reno and Rude on his way out, slightly annoyed when Tseng follows him, feeling like he’d be quite content to go his entire life without ever seeing another Turk again. 


	20. Chapter 20

Her hands are nimble, even in the predawn darkness.

“How much sleep did you get?”

“Enough.”

“I like this tie,” Charlie murmurs, hardly having slept herself, knotting his tie and tucking it under the stiff collar of his shirt. She had been the one to buy him this tie. “Here, your cufflinks.”

“I wish you’d put a shirt on,” he sighs, feeling dead on his feet. Truthfully, he had only slept for about three hours, and upon waking to the obnoxious ringing of his alarm, Charlie had been curled into a ball against his front, still sniffling lightly in her sleep. “There’s a Turk here, and you know how little they respect your boundaries.”

“It's only Tseng. He’s not going to come in here.”

She slides one of his cufflinks through the hole in his shirt. It’s a pretty sight to see her standing in front of him, wearing hardly anything while dressing him, his eyes taking in the curve of her neck, the shadows of her breasts, the smooth skin and hard muscle of her stomach. He reaches out to touch her clumsily with his free hand, knowing that doing so will only make it harder to leave her.

_Gods_ , she’s beautiful, even with the fresh pink burns that still litter her skin, peeling and blistering, her face still bruised and her back tinged yellow. It makes him sad, to think that he’s the reason she’s like that.

He hadn’t liked the idea of Tseng staying the night, but he had insisted on seeing Reeve home safely (unnecessary) and, as it was well past midnight when they arrived, Charlie had sleepily insisted that Tseng get some rest in the guest room (also unnecessary). He had been too tired to argue against it, and Charlie likely wouldn’t have heard his argument if he tried.

Even now, Reeve knows there’s no escaping Tseng—he had heard the light footsteps making their way past their bedroom door just a few minutes ago, wandering around the apartment, comfortable and at ease.

Charlie is quick to notice him so distracted, glancing down at the hand clumsily fondling her breast. It makes her smile, and that counts for something, at least. “And here I thought I might convince you to come back to bed. Is it working?”

Gods, he loves her. And even if everything she said last night was true, he doesn’t quite think he would love her any less.

“You're cruel,” he says, smiling weakly at her as she lifts his hand off her chest to fix his cuff, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I can't say I'm not tempted. I'm exhausted.”

Charlie finishes with his other cufflink, picking up the dark blue suit jacket off the bed to help him into it. “I'll make it worth your while,” she whispers, but he knows her heart isn’t really in it. “You can touch me as much as you want, or I’ll lay naked for a long time so you can draw me, or we can sleep for eighty hours straight.”

“What I want right now,” he replies in a low voice, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the crook of her neck, hunched awkwardly to just about smother her, “is for you to get back in bed and sleep for as long as you need to.”

“I think I could manage that, for you.”

“My mother wants to see you today,” he adds, hoping it doesn’t discourage her. If truth be told, he thinks Charlie could use a woman’s company. “She's not angry, but please don’t tell her what happened.”

“That her son’s boss and future father-in-law held him hostage in order to coerce a public confession from his fiancée?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “Exactly that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She kisses him before he goes, tugging gently on his tie as if hoping to coerce him back into bed. He protests, but very weakly, and Charlie only releases him after he pleases her with a few whispered promises and well-placed touches, and she’s already sound asleep again by the time Reeve makes for the front door, the sun barely beginning to make its ascent over the horizon.

He’s uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her alone, afraid that she’ll leave the apartment before Reno and Rude arrive to keep her company and do something that might jeopardize her safety. Or perhaps he should be concerned about his own safety, after the stunt her father decided to pull last night.

There’s already a car waiting outside the apartment building when he steps out into the smog-choked air of Midgar, and Tseng is already waiting in the backseat, so focused on the text he’s in the middle of sending that he hardly notices Reeve joining him in the car.

It’s a short ride to the Shinra building, but long enough that Reeve has time to sneak glances at Tseng, his mind doing its utmost to break his heart. 

There are so many things he dislikes about the Turks, the main one being their close proximity to Charlie at all times combined with his general lack of knowledge about their histories with her.

Charlie doesn’t like talking about her childhood, and Reeve can understand that, but sometimes he wants to know everything, wants to know how a ragtag band of upjumped security guards became something of a family to her as she blossomed into late adolescence. It’s all so suspect, especially with them all being so close in age with her.

Or he may just be overthinking, his brain reaching for something to latch onto that isn’t the reactor bombings or the many casualties resulting from those bombings.

“You never told me,” Reeve begins, irritated to find that Tseng doesn't bother to lift his eyes from his phone. That lack of respect doesn't extend towards Charlie, he knows. If she had tried to make conversation with Tseng now, Reeve knows she would hold his undivided attention. “How did you and Charlie meet?”

“If Charlotte hasn’t told you, I don’t think it’s my place to say, Director," Tseng replies, finally lowering his phone to smile smugly at Reeve. “It’s not a thrilling story, so you can relax.”

“Well, if you tell me now, I promise not to mention it to her.”

They look at each other for a long moment, seated on opposite ends of the leathery bench in the back of the car. The driver pays them little mind, instead focusing on navigating the early morning traffic of Midgar.

“Her safety has always been a top priority for the Turks,” Tseng answers simply, giving his thin shoulders a shrug and looking out the window at the gray sky, slowly lightening with the rising sun. “We used to draw straws to determine who would watch over her, and as the newest recruit, I was often very unlucky.”

“Your greatest priority’s security was determined by straws?” Reeve asks again, more than surprised by this information. Though, after a moment to really think about it, it’s no less than what he truly expected from them.

This makes Tseng laugh softly, hiding his smile behind a long-fingered hand. “Charlotte was only a young girl, and a difficult one alongside the vice president. I hope you don’t think me impertinent, Director.”

“Yet to be determined. Continue.”

“I only meant that she was headstrong and defiant,” Tseng tells him, lowering his hand back down to his lap. “Not everyone is equipped with the fortitude to keep watch over a teenage girl. Many Turks who were successful in every field mission failed where Charlotte was concerned.”

Reeve scoffs. Having known Charlie since she was at the peak of her bratty teenage years, he can only imagine what she might have been like to those she wasn’t immediately fond of.

“She only wanted someone to talk to, and was more than content when I allowed her to talk for hours without interrupting her. All she wanted was a friend.”

That sounds about right. It’s how he had attracted Charlie’s attention in the first place, all by listening to her chatter without stopping her, without making her feel like her chatter was nonsensical and useless and annoying, even when it could be all three of those things. Besides, she had grown out of that, and Reeve doesn’t so much mind listening to her talk at length anymore.

“How did she become your responsibility?” Reeve asks, wondering if it’s all professional, or if the Turk really does feel some form of affection for Charlie. No doubt it’s the latter. Spending as much time around someone as Tseng does Charlie can certainly influence one’s feelings towards them. “Was it Rufus who asked that of you?”

“Yes, the vice president has asked that I keep a close eye on his sister, but no, it was not him initially,” Tseng replies. “I made a promise to an old friend that I would care for her.”

“Who?”

Tseng smiles. For a man whose entire job demands a repression of feelings and anything close to them, Reeve thinks Tseng is likely far more amiable than he lets on, and he’s sure Charlie knows that well enough, considering her attachment to him.

Reeve only half-expects the answer Tseng gives him. “Veld.”

* * *

“Planning on gettin’ outta bed today, princess?”

“No.”

“Don’t be like that, Charlie.”

Charlie feels Reno sit down on Reeve’s side of the bed, her back to him, allowing the bright winter sunlight to stream in through the wide windows, warming her bare skin. “I want to talk to Tseng,” she murmurs, closing her eyes again, burying her face in her pillow. “Bring him to me.”

“Why do you need Tseng?” Reno scoffs, and Charlie is sure he’s feigning offense, even if she can’t see him. “C’mon, I got things to do today. Wanna come? It’ll be fun. Just the three of us. You, me, and Rude.”

This makes her roll over, thoroughly annoyed by him now. “Do I, Charlotte Shinra, who just announced to the world her heinous crimes, want to go out and do things with you today? Do you really value my life so little, Reno?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get your point,” Reno murmurs bitterly, frowning down at her, his back propped up against the headboard like he belongs here. “But you have to get out of bed eventually, and you gotta get dressed. You can’t just lay here naked and sulking all day. It’s not a good look for ya.”

“I’m wearing underwear.”

“Prove it.”

His joke doesn’t have the intended effect. Instead of smiling, Charlie rolls back over, scooting towards the edge of the bed to place as much distance between them as possible.

Reno huffs playfully. "You wouldn’t survive a night with me, babe. You’re too used to the tender lovemaking the director gives you. I’m talkin’ pure, carnal, impulsive fucking. You know what that’s like?”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t survive. Your bony prick would probably slice up my insides, if I didn’t develop a combination of three different diseases beforehand.”

“Wanna find out?”

Charlie glances over her shoulder to look at him. “You’re gutter trash, Reno, do you know that?” She’s pleased to see him scowl, at least, before she looks back towards the window. “Where are you going, anyway?”

“Ah, it’s boring stuff, y’know? Gotta check out the Sector Five slums, return to my gutter trash roots. You wouldn’t be interested. Like I said, it’s really boring.” Reno shifts behind her, and when he speaks again, his mouth seems very close to her ear. “So . . . you gonna tell me why you need Tseng so bad?”

“It’s none of your business,” Charlie snaps. “What I talk about with your boss is private.”

“Ah,” Reno says. “I see. Need to have a good, private chat with the boss, huh?” He laughs, enjoying himself too much, raising his voice so Rude can hear it through the walls and moaning loudly. “‘Oh, _Tseng!_ I need a nice, good, private _talking to!_ ’”

“That’s not funny, and I don’t sound like that.”

“Y’know, I’m right here. You can give me the message and I’ll pass it on.”

“No. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Reno sighs, slipping off the bed and making an unnecessary amount of noise while doing so, moaning and groaning and stretching and yawning. “Which means your pretty little self will be left all alone. Who’s gonna make sure the rebellious princess Charlotte Shinra doesn’t sneak out to blow up another reactor?”

She feels something in her snap, and she sits up straight, holding the sheet to her bare chest to give him the angriest look she can muster, though she’s sure it falls flat. Her face still feels puffy from all the crying she’d done last night and this morning, and her hair hasn’t been tended to for hours.

Reno is smiling. It takes her a moment to realize he was only joking, and for the first time, she feels very connected to her father, wishing that he’d wipe the smug grin off his face and be serious for once. “Oh. Did I touch a nerve?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

_He knows_ , she can’t help but think. _He knows, but he hasn’t said anything to anyone._ “What do you want, Reno?”

“A lot of things,” he says, reaching up as high as he can, his shirt riding up to expose his lean stomach, lacing his fingers together behind his head when he’s done giving her a show. “I want you to drop the sheet so I can see your tits. I want you to get out of bed and stop actin’ like a little kid. I want to go sleep in my own bed instead of scouting the slums. I want a hot breakfast served to me in bed by a scantily clad woman. Can you do any of those things for me?”

“No.”

“Not even the ‘get the hell out of bed’ one?”

“You're not funny.” Charlie reaches over to her phone, sitting on the nightstand. There’s one text from Cid she has yet to read, afraid that it will reveal some form of a filthy accusation within. “Why isn’t Rufus answering my phone calls?”

“Daddy made it very clear that he isn’t to speak to you, ya filthy traitor,” he teases, but Charlie still fails to find the humor in it.

“So he’s still not content with simply firing me and placing me under a horribly supervised house arrest—”

“Don’t forget he froze your access to the accounts.”

“No, I definitely haven’t forgotten that,” she hisses at him, sighing heavily and attempting to flatten her hair. “Why doesn’t he want me talking to Rufus? He couldn’t bear to have his own son hear the truth of things?”

Reno stoops to pick up a discarded blouse of hers off the floor, balling it up and wrinkling it just to throw it at her face. “I’m sure he doesn’t want both of his children scheming against him, plotting a coup.”

Charlie tenses as she slides into the blouse, buttoning it slowly, looking directly into Reno’s eyes as if expecting to see there whether or not he’s lying. “A coup?” she asks. “Is that what Rufus is planning?”

“Why do you want to talk to Tseng so badly?”

Charlie traces her teeth with her tongue. “What business do you have in the Sector Five slums?”

“What’re you doin’ hiring Avalanche sympathizers as personal assistants?”

“Why can’t you and the rest of you _stupid_ Turks just keep your _stupid_ noses out my private life? Why can’t you all just leave me alone?”

“Is that really what you want?”

Reno nearly jumps at the sound of Rude’s voice, and Charlie’s angry retorts die on the tip of her tongue at the sight of him. He isn’t angry—if anything, he’s amused, one side of his mouth turned upwards.

The last thing she wants is to sound so ungrateful in front of a man who has dedicated nearly half his life to protecting her, all on her brother’s orders, of course, and never shying away from that tediously dull task.

Charlie and Reno meet eyes for a split second, the both of them looking slightly abashed at having been overheard.

“You have a visitor,” Rude tells her, sounding as if he’s not holding a grudge over what he just heard her say. “Reno, we need to leave. It’s getting late.”

Once Charlie’s apartment is free of Turks, she deems it safe enough to slip out of bed and dress, sliding into jeans that have been tucked away in her bottom dresser drawer for ages.

Before leaving, she tries calling Rufus one more time. She must have already left him a dozen voicemails, half of them incoherent, as she had been crying through them. He doesn’t answer this time, either.

“Rufus, please call me back,” she sighs, pacing at the foot of her bed. “I need to talk to you. I need to hear your voice.” She rubs at the bridge of her nose. “I need you to tell me everything is going to be all right. I know for a fact Tseng probably already told you everything, but he won’t answer my calls, either—”

Her message is cut off, and she immediately calls him again, still hoping he’ll answer. She leaves him another message, growing frustrated.

“Please come to Midgar, Rufus. I need you. I need you here, please. Please come. I love you, and I need to talk to you.”

Rufus won’t be able to ignore a voicemail like that. She knows him too well, and knows that he loves to play the hero where she’s involved.

The moment she steps out of her bedroom, she hears the tell-tale sounds of Reeve’s mother—kitchen cabinets opening and closing, dishes being moved around in the sink, the sound of running water and the low hum of the television running a news segment no doubt related to the bombings and Charlie’s own teary-eyed, bombshell confession.

She’s an older woman, Ruvie, maybe older than Charlie’s own aging father, and tougher than she looks, which is part of the reason Charlie likes her so much. She’s not unlike her son, her graying hair once dark, prone to falling into the dark eyes of her narrow face, now wrinkled and spotted with age. 

Her nose is slightly overlarge, pink at the tip, but her smile is just as warm as Reeve’s is, and when her soft hands come to rest on either side of Charlie’s face, they are just as comforting as Reeve’s, as well.

“Oh, Charlotte, what did they do to you?” Ruvie breathes, pressing light, maternal, undeserved kisses to each of Charlie’s cheeks. “I can’t believe your own father made you say such terrible things.” Her grip on Charlie’s cheeks tighten. “But if it were true, I don’t think I would . . . well, what I think doesn’t matter in front of the president’s daughter. You know better than I.”

Charlie smiles. She only partially means it. Reeve had told her before—several times very apologetically—when he had first brought her home for dinner, explaining hastily in the backseat of a chauffeured car that his mother heavily disagreed with the way Shinra ran Midgar. 

She must have been only nineteen at the time, and later, he would confess his anxiety over bringing home President Shinra’s young daughter to his mother for critical inspection, which Charlie knows had embarrassed him, as Reeve hadn’t even found the courage to admit in words that he liked her anymore than he should before that night.

“Your kitchen is a mess,” his mother continues, lowering her hands from Charlie’s face, who trails after her into the kitchen. Dishes sit unwashed on the counter and in the sink (seemingly used very recently, giving her reason to believe Reno made himself very comfortable here over the course of the morning), a few empty bottles of wine are scattered about, and Cat has left some of his dry food on the floor.

“Our housekeeper quit,” Charlie admits, sitting down at one of the tall chairs by the counter as Ruvie sets to work doing the dishes. “We haven’t found time to dedicate to cleaning. You should see the pile of laundry I have in the bedroom.”

“For as bright as you are, Charlotte, you’re very useless, as well. You’re lucky Reeve was raised by such an involved mother. Boys these days can’t do anything at all,” she teases, moving with surprising agility. “Rude said you’d been in bed all morning.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night. Reeve didn’t come home until after midnight.”

“That’s no way for a man to act while he’s to be married,” Ruvie tells her sternly, as Charlie stretches as far as she can to turn on the coffee machine.

“He’s been busy with work, mama. It’s not like he’s having an affair. I’d never believe it of your son,” Charlie replies, smiling at her concern. “Besides, my father cut me off, so he’s working for the both of us now, bless him.”

“Do you have any money saved?”

Charlie drags a hand down her face, not even wanting to think about it, but coffee helps. “Enough to last us a while. Don’t worry, Reeve will take care of me, and Rufus will make sure we don’t lack for anything.”

She checks her phone again, just to make sure she hasn’t missed any calls or texts from her brother. The unopened text from Cid mocks her, and it makes her heart race to think of what might be written.

Money won’t be an issue. Money will never be an issue, and she knows that, but it’s a severe blow to her pride to know that she may have to rely on Rufus to attend to her every need. She won’t apologize for enjoying a life of luxury, but it’s one thing to have Rufus pay for things they both know she can afford, and a completely different thing to have him pay for things she can’t.

Reeve, no doubt, would rather make sacrifices than have to rely on anyone, especially Rufus, but Charlie is afraid to see the lengths he’s willing to go to. They’ve already lost their housekeeper, which had annoyed her to no end.

“Has my son been feeding you?” she asks suddenly, eyes sweeping over what’s visible of Charlie’s body, slumped against the counter. “You look awful skinny, little lady. He’s always been a wonderful cook.”

"Your son takes such good care of me, mama, don’t worry. He’s the perfect gentleman.” She gives Ruvie a weary smile.

“You look tired, child.”

Charlie shrugs, one elbow propped on the counter to support her head, which feels heavier than usual. Her body has been unusually sore lately, no doubt due to the burns still healing along her body, peeling horribly down her side, painful blisters bubbling on her sensitive, tender skin.

“I am,” she confesses.

For years now, Ruvie has doted on her as a mother would dote upon a daughter. Charlie has long suspected Ruvie has known about the gaping hole left in her own heart from her own mother, the memory of her riding away on the back of a truck always cropping up in a dream every now and then.

There’s something about her, though, that makes Charlie trust her almost instinctively. There’s a fight to her, a certain kind of spirit, treating Charlie like a person instead of a Shinra, treating her like an equal, and unafraid to speak up against Shinra's injustices to the face of the president’s daughter.

Charlie has always enjoyed gossiping with her, speaking mostly of Reeve and giggling upon the learning of some new fact about him. Ruvie had even been the one to let slip her son had certainly loved her for some time, something that both shocked Charlie and made perfect sense when she stopped to think about it.

“But how do you know?” Charlie had asked, hardly daring to believe it, whispering to his mother while he was off in the kitchen. She had been twenty, and Cid was slowly becoming the center of her solar system, having been spending nearly everyday with him, working on the _Highwind_. “Did he really say that? He said those words?”

“Not exactly,” Ruvie had replied, smiling fondly, “but he’s never brought another woman home before.” She had examined Charlie with a certain terrifying intensity, a gaze that made Charlie’s breath halt. “You’re a bit young, but perfectly polite.”

It had excited her, made her heart flutter, and the memory of it still makes her stomach churn.

She had waited weeks for him to say something, to do something that might indicate his mother was right. But he only continued to publicly spurn her advances (albeit with a flush on his face), shy and uncomfortable when conversation got a little too flirtatious, embarrassed when Charlie would try and coerce a confession out of him.

After that, Charlie stopped believing it was true. Maybe he did love her, as she loved him after all those years together, but she didn’t think he would ever find the courage to admit it or act on it.

If he knew now what she had done . . . to think of everything that would be undone . . . to think about how little he might trust her, to think about how his feelings might change . . . and if he didn’t want to marry her anymore . . .

Maybe it’s for that reason (and the fact that if she doesn’t talk about it soon, it will literally eat away at her) that Charlie whispers, with sudden tears in her eyes, “I've done something horrible.”

Perhaps it’s just Charlie's overactive imagination, but she thinks Ruvie may already know what she’s going to say. “What is it?”

“Reeve would hate me.”

“He could never hate you. We’ll get through it, no matter what it is. Tell me, child.”

Charlie opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the sudden ringing of her phone. She jumps, scrambling for it, answering it before even checking to see who it is.

“Rufus?”

“ _Hell no_ ,” comes a voice she would recognize anywhere, “ _you gotta sec?_ ”

She blushes heatedly, glancing up at Reeve’s mother. “I can’t talk right now,” she tells Cid. “I have to go.”

“ _Just a second, I swear! I just wanna talk!_ ”

Charlie hesitates, her heart beating very fast. Ruvie has already busied herself with the dishes, her back to Charlie as she talks on the phone. “I’ll call you back in a little bit. I promise, all right? This is a bad time.”

He sighs on the other end, likely assuming she won’t follow through with her promise. “ _Promise?_ ”

“Yes. Good-bye.”

She hangs up the call, thoroughly embarrassed, and she can feel her cheeks stinging. What had he wanted to talk about? What had been so important that he felt bold enough to just call her like that? With Reeve’s mother still working on cleaning their dirty dishes, Charlie quickly opens the text from Cid she’s been neglecting all night and all morning.

_Are you ok?_

She almost laughs. She had expected much worse. She had expected anger, fury, accusations, a scolding. She had expected Cid to call her a ‘murderer’, at least once, and to chastise her for something so extremist.

At least, if Reeve _does_ hate her for what she’s done, she still has one friend she can count on.

Unsure if she’s able to confess now after having been interrupted, Charlie remains quiet, and Ruvie doesn’t press her for anymore details. Eventually, she feels too guilty letting Reeve’s mother do all the cleaning, and Charlie puts some distance between them by slowly cleaning the living room, finding it difficult to bend down without breaking any of her blisters, her lower back aching painfully, and Cat kneads at her side while she picks up old take-out boxes off the coffee table, making her cry out with pain.

The news anchor on the television plays a clip of last night’s bombing again, and Charlie can’t look away. Crisis management has reacted much quicker this time, having been expecting it, most likely, and having some form of practice after the last bombing of mako reactor one.

Still, the explosion was too big. Charlie had made that bomb perfectly, and there’s no possible way that it could have produced such an explosion. Jessie must have switched out the bombs, or some other member of Avalanche, or they could have left behind multiple bombs to increase the amount of damage done.

Dusk is falling when Ruvie leaves the apartment, and Charlie is tempted to follow her. She knows the Turks have not made a mistake by leaving her alone and that, if she leaves, they will know and they will find her and bring her back . . . or they’re giving her slightly more leniency at Rufus’s request.

Regardless, she doesn’t leave her apartment, afraid of walking the streets and hearing others talk about her. She’s afraid of being labeled a terrorist, afraid of hearing lies spoken about her in broad daylight.

Instead, Charlie locks herself in her office. It takes her fifteen minutes to gather the strength to press ‘call’ with Cid’s name lit up on her contacts. The last thing she wants to do, right now, is talk to Cid and be forced to explain herself. How will she do that, anyway?

_Oh, yeah, it's nothing really, I just built a bomb in the hopes of destroying my father's company's things! I told you it was scary, and now you know why! Thanks for calling, but I think I can handle the crushing guilt myself._

He answers after four rings, sounding out of breath. “ _Hey, you called back._ ”

“I told you I would.”

“ _You told me a lot of things, kiddo._ ”

Charlie hates herself for smiling, even if it is weak. She’s just glad that Cid isn’t able to see it, knowing that he would tease her mercilessly. “What do you want, Cid?”

“ _I wanna know why you were on TV last night lookin’ like someone went to town on your face_ ,” he begins, and she closes her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “ _and I wanna know why you were cryin’_.”

“I wasn't crying,” she insists, unable to remember if she had been or not. “What business is that of yours, anyway?”

“ _Lottie, you were standin’ up there lookin’ like you were bein’ forced at gunpoint to give that speech_ ,” Cid retorts hotly. “ _You ain't gonna tell me what's goin' on?_ ”

“You don’t have a right to that information,” she hisses. She doesn’t really want to be cruel to him. After all, he had called to make sure she was all right, probably very shocked to see her in such a state, but it embarrasses her, it humiliates her.

“ _Was it true, at least?_ ”

Charlie pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat, looking around her office for something to look at, something to distract her from remembering the way the bodies had burned, the way the buildings had collapsed in on themselves, from the way the streets were filled with high-pitched screams.

“Yeah,” she admits, her voice hardly more than a whisper. She can’t even believe she’s said it, especially to Cid. “Some of it was true.”

Cid is quiet for a long time, only beginning to speak again at the same time that her phone beeps in her ear. She pulls it away from her face and sighs.

“Cid, I have to go. I have another call.”

“ _It’s not your boyfriend, is it?_ ”

“No, it’s Tseng. I really have to go, but it was . . . nice talking to you.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Cid sighs. “ _Bye, Lottie. Take care._ ”

Charlie hangs up almost immediately, wishing she could have spoken to him longer, wishing she could have confessed everything. “I’ve called you six times. Why the hell haven’t you answered any of my calls?”

Tseng’s voice sounds unusually strained. “ _Stay where you are, and pack some things. I’m on my way to get you now_.”

“What?” she scoffs, groaning. “Where do you suppose you’re taking me? I'm not leaving my apartment.”

“ _I’m not taking risks. I’m getting you out of Sector Eight_.” There's a long pause on Tseng’s end, and Charlie is too tired to argue. “ _They’re going to drop the Sector Seven plate tonight_.”

“They?” she asks again, hardly daring to believe. It sounds so outrageous, so ridiculous, and yet, there’s no mistaking the obvious stiffness to Tseng’s admission. “What do you mean? Who’s going to drop the plate?”

“ _We are_ ,” he says, and Charlie’s heart stops.

“You’re going to drop the plate? Just like that?” Charlie jumps to her feet, sprinting out of her office to look out the nearest window that affords her a small glimpse of the sector. It looks perfectly normal. “You can’t do that. Why would you . . . you can’t!”

“ _Pack your things, Charlotte. I’m coming to get you_.”

“Tseng!”

“ _Charlotte_ —”

“What is dropping the plate going to do for anyone?”

His answer comes after a short pause. She wishes she could see his face, wishes that she could look into his dark eyes so he’s able to see what she thinks of such a stupid idea. “ _Shinra is going to destroy Avalanche’s hide-out in the Sector Seven slums. Get ready. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, and we’ll need to move quickly_.”


	21. Chapter 21

Fifteen minutes. What can she do in fifteen minutes? 

To get to the slums, she’ll need to use a helicopter, and it’s not like she’ll be able to waltz right into the hangar to steal one. 

She could take the train, but that would mean wasting precious time as it follows its corkscrew course all the way down the central pillar. 

If she had taken the time to learn the layout of the sewers, she might even be able to sneak down that way, but that would take time, and if she got lost, she isn’t sure how long it would take for someone to find her. 

If she was able to get into HQ at all, she might even be able to sneak into the press room, to quickly broadcast evacuation orders, to urge everyone to vacate the Sector Seven area if they value their lives. 

Whatever she plans on doing, she needs to come up with an idea quickly. The moment Tseng reaches her apartment, she knows he will refuse to let her out of his sight, instead choosing to lock her up somewhere to keep her safe, while hundreds of thousands of people die above the plate _and_ below. 

Charlie refuses to allow all those people to die for her mistakes. Whatever happened with both bombs, whether or not it truly was her fault, she can’t bear to imagine the pain that will soon permeate Midgar, leaving the city in a constant state of despair and mourning. 

She doesn’t want to picture a city with mass graves dug for nameless grounders, homes completely lost to unnecessary cruelty, another collapsed section of the city for Reeve to eventually fix whenever her father decides to allocate money for such an ambitious project. 

Ten minutes. She has to leave her apartment, and quickly. No doubt Tseng will show up five minutes early, just to make sure she isn’t in the middle of doing something stupid, hoping to catch her at something he can use against her. 

She flies around her apartment, unsure of what to do, torn between staying and going, afraid that her father might use Reeve to lure her back when he finds out she’s gone. That thought frightens her, the picture of him with a gun placed to the back of his head still floating up in her mind’s eye whenever it begins to fade. She had done that. He had been subjected to that because of _her_. 

If forced to make the choice, she knows what choice she would make. She would choose Reeve a thousand times over, no matter how sick it makes her feel. He would hate her for it, to be sure, would resent her for choosing his life over the thousands and thousands and thousands of lives in Sector Seven, but Charlie doesn’t think she has the courage to let her own father use Reeve in that twisted way. 

_Reeve_. 

He wouldn’t let this happen. Certainly he wouldn’t stand by while all those people were killed on her father’s orders. Certainly he would do what he could, just like he had on the night of the first bombing, when he had stayed behind to help the survivors. 

She tries to call him, but his phone goes directly to voicemail. That frightens her, too. 

Pocketing her phone, Charlie makes her decision. She knows she won’t be able to live with herself if she doesn’t do _something_ , something to allow her to say she tried, she did the best she could, she _helped_. Maybe it doesn’t count for much, considering it’s likely her fault that the plate is being dropped in the first place (Gods, this can’t be happening), but she won’t just allow Tseng to whisk her away. 

She picks up the handgun hidden beneath all of her lingerie, the same handgun she had brought with her to Pia’s house (oh Gods, _Pia_ ), the same gun Rufus had given her years ago. She’s never even fired it before, but she tucks it into the back of her pants nonetheless. 

Before she walks out the door, she calls Reeve one more time. It doesn’t ring, only sending her straight to voicemail again, but this time, she leaves a message for him. 

“Hey,” she pants, sure that he’ll recognize that as a red flag the moment he listens to her message, “I just wanted to give you a call to tell you I love you.” Charlie stops before her apartment door, hesitating with her hand on the doorknob. “I love you _so_ much, and I’m sorry.”

Tucking her phone away, Charlie gives Cat some loving affection and makes for the lobby. 

* * *

He continues his protests long after Heidegger has been dismissed from the president’s office. He had meant to go home to Charlotte hours ago, but work had kept him, emergency after emergency after emergency, and then the news of the plate dropping from Tseng had reached his ears.

Tseng had promised Charlie would be safe, and Reeve hadn’t doubted him for a second. Despite their apartment building being located in Sector Eight, near the edge of the section where Sector Seven begins, he hadn’t wanted to take any risks, too afraid that he would return to his collapsed apartment building to find Charlie buried underneath the rubble.

He still remembers the look of pure shock and fear on her face the night of the first bombing. He remembers seeing her face covered in blood and sweat and soot, eyes opened wide as she took in the horrible sights and sounds, a million miles away from him, hardly able to hear him talking to her. 

That’s not a sight he’d like to relive, especially since he’s forced to see it in his dreams every night. 

“You can’t do this,” he rasps, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Part of him is afraid, especially after the president’s display just last night, but if his arguing irritates President Shinra, Reeve likely would have been dragged out of the office long ago. “Please, Mr. President, you can’t do this!”

President Shinra puts his cigar out and takes a few steps forward, close enough to reach out and place a meaty hand upon Reeve’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake and a cold smile. 

All of those people below the plate, unaware that their lives are going to come to a crushing halt within . . . how long? . . . and all those above the plate who will soon fall the three-hundred or so meters to the ground below . . . it’s a terrifyingly cruel thing, to care so little about the lives of the people of Midgar, to know that it’s Charlie’s _father_ who cares so little about the lives of his people . . . 

It’s unthinkable. Surely he’s bluffing, hoping to draw Avalanche out to destroy them directly. Surely he wouldn’t drop an entire section of the plate onto the slums below just to wipe out a handful of people? The amount of lives lost, the amount of gil that will need to be amassed to rebuild, the lingering feelings of guilt that will certainly plague him for the rest of his days . . . he can’t just let it happen, can’t say he never tried. 

“Reeve,” President Shinra begins gruffly, giving him one last shake before releasing his shoulder. The president adjusts the lapels of his suit, much like Charlie enjoys doing, fixing his tie like a father might fuss with a son. “Listen, my boy . . . progress requires sacrifice.”

The doubt must be obvious in Reeve’s expression.

President Shinra lowers his hands, looking up into Reeve’s face curiously. It’s hard to believe that, only last night, he had held Reeve hostage in order to force his daughter’s hand. “You’re just the same as Char,” he says, almost sounding amused. “You _care_ about those people down there, do you? They’re dying off already, killing and robbing each other, but no protest has ever been raised before now.”

Reeve’s resolve lessens with President Shinra standing so close to him. “But to drop an entire section of the plate . . . to crush the slums below . . . and all the people who will go down with the plate . . .”

“You’ve been working too much, and too hard. I can tell.” The president touches either side of Reeve’s face, paternal, falsely kind. “You need a vacation, to take your mind off things. You need to take a few steps back and look at the bigger picture, the beauty of the future.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. President Shinra’s voice has hardened, but there’s still a certain kindness to his face, wanting to be heard, wanting to be respected. He doesn’t want to frighten Reeve too badly, it seems. 

“Here’s what you’re going to do, son.”

Reeve hates himself for not continuing, for not raising more of a cry, for not doing _more_ in general. Charlie would fight it until she was red in the face and sobbing, until President Shinra had her hunched over, bringing his belt down upon her back. 

“I’m going to pay for a trip, a vacation, for you to get out of the city. You need a change of scenery. Midgar gets old after a while.” He gives Reeve’s cheek a light tap, making him flinch. “I want you to bring my daughter with you, as well, anywhere you want. I want you to leave tomorrow morning, before the sun rises, and I’ll not hear a word against it. I want you to romance my daughter, make her happy again, let her have a good time. And when the two of you come back, everything will be just like it was.”

He can only blink in surprise as the president gives his right cheek another light pat before pulling his hands away, already reaching for his smoking cigar again. 

“And I don’t want my son anywhere near Char, Reeve, is that clear?”

His throat feels very dry and constricted. “Yes, sir,” he croaks. 

* * *

She didn’t _want_ to steal the bike. 

But it was sitting there all pretty, the key dangling from the ignition, and no one was outside to stop her. A bike is easier to take down to the slums than a car, whose tires wouldn’t do well tracing the train tracks that spiral downwards. 

But the bike . . . it works well, and it’s fast, and she’ll return it the moment she gets back, if she’s able to even remember where she got it from. 

It’s unnervingly dark in the tunnel, lit by colored lights that signal the trains and flickering lamps every half mile or so, as well as the red lights on the walls, casting the tunnel in a bloody shadow. No trains seem to be running, or at least, she hasn’t seen or heard any trains yet. 

That must have been Reeve’s idea, if he even knows about what’s going to happen. The last thing Midgar needs is for a train full of people to go down with the destruction of Sector Seven and the slums below.

Her heart is hammering the further she gets down the tunnel. The buzz of the bike she’d stolen hums in her ears and echoes off the walls, the wind blowing her hair back out of her face, causing little tears to prick at the corners of her eyes. 

Faster, faster, faster—too fast. If she takes a turn like that again, she’ll fall.

Her phone rings constantly in her back pocket. She knows it’s Tseng, probably furious with her after showing up to her apartment to find it empty, dark, and deserted. No doubt he’ll send a few helicopters out to search for her, to drag her kicking and screaming back to somewhere he thinks is safe. 

If she knows Tseng, the helicopters will be waiting at the mouth of the tunnel, along with Reno and Rude. It’s too easy for her to break Tseng, but Reno and Rude will do what it takes to bring her back top-side. 

She thinks of trying Rufus once more, just to tell him what’s going on. Maybe one of his Turks already told him. Maybe he’s already on his way to Midgar to stop his father from destroying part of the city. Maybe he doesn’t care at all, and will watch the destruction from the privacy of their beach house, unaware of the danger that Charlie is putting herself in.

What the hell could he be doing that’s so important? It’s unlike Rufus to ignore so many missed calls from her, especially missed calls accompanied by pleading voicemails begging for him to talk to her.

Charlie leans forward, speeding the bike up.

* * *

Reeve would hate it if he knew Tseng had a key to the apartment—only for emergencies, like now. 

Charlotte had been upset about it for a few days, but that had been years ago now, and part of Rufus’s deal with her: if he was going to pay for her to live there, then someone in Midgar was going to have a spare key to protect her. 

It had made sense, when she lived alone, and the vice president had given _him_ the key before asking anyone else, a responsibility that seemed too big for his shoulders, one that made him slightly nervous, even if he would never admit it. And besides, it’s not like he’s had to use it very often.

He remembers the first time, though. The first time had been to bug her apartment, at her brother’s request, but Charlotte had found out about it quickly and that had been the end of that. She had scolded him terribly, had gotten so angry that a shadow of her father was visible in her face, but Tseng had taken the scolding, accepted the blame, apologized for trespassing, and that had appeased her well enough.

“Charlotte?”

He checks the bedroom, her office, even Reeve’s office. 

“ _Charlotte!_ ”

The apartment is dark, and her cat mewls at him from the sofa. He drags a hand down his face before slamming a fist into the solid wall. If she were here, he would know. There’s hardly anywhere for her to hide. 

“Goddammit!” 

He pulls out his phone and quickly dials her numbers, peeking out through the curtain of her living room to look outside. Everything is calm. How can everything be so calm before the storm they’re about to weather? Time feels frozen, as if he’s trapped in some horrible purgatory, knowing what he must do despite the small voice that protests irritatingly in the back of his mind.

Funnily enough, he thinks his own conscience speaks with Charlotte’s voice.

She doesn’t answer the first time, nor does she answer the next eight times he calls her back to back. 

How could he have let her slip through his fingers so easily? 

Perhaps he let her. Tseng knows her better than anyone, save for maybe Rufus, and should have known she would refuse to stand by while an entire section of the city was dropped. He shouldn’t have told her, should have just come to collect her with a vague description of the danger she might be in, so close to Sector Seven. 

But if she has gone down to the slums, as he suspects she has, there’s a very slim chance of her making it back alive without someone going to find her. And if she doesn’t make it back alive . . .

What would he do if Charlotte was among those killed by the crashing plate? The president would have him killed, the vice president would have him killed, Reeve might even work _with_ Rufus to have him killed, and Tseng doesn’t think he could live with himself. 

He had promised Veld, all those years ago, to keep her safe, had promised to care for her and be her friend, to protect her, not only from the horrors at Shinra, but from her brother, someone Veld knew (from experience) could be cold and callous and possessive, prone to bouts of anger and violence. 

Personally, Tseng has never seen Rufus lay a finger on Charlotte (in a malicious and cruel way, anyway), but he also wouldn’t put it past the vice president, who has an unsettling mean streak when it comes to women. 

“ _Stop calling me!_ ”

Her voice is shrill on the other end of the phone, and he can hear the unmistakable buzzing of a motorbike in the background, echoing. She took the tunnel. 

“You need to come back so I can—”

“ _Let me do this!_ ”

“Do what?” he asks hastily. 

“ _I’m not going to let them die!_ _Someone needs to tell them the plate is going to kill them all!_ ”

“I’m coming for you,” he promises, his voice clipped and harsh. “I’ll have someone else send a warning whose life matters le—”

“ _I don’t need you to rescue me! Why can’t you just let me do this!_ ”

Tseng pinches the bridge of his nose. She’s sixteen again, and he’s just refused her a solo trip to the beach. Heaving a deep sigh, he tells her, “I’m coming for you.”

“ _No! I’m not going anywhere with you!_ ”

“I’ll see you soon—”

“ _Tseng, why can’t you just let me do this?_ ” It sounds like she’s crying. Why is it that she always seems to feel the need to cry around him? “ _Why can’t you trust me just this once?_ ”

“I _did_ trust you, Charlotte. I trusted you to stay put at your apartment so I could keep you safe, and you _left_.”

“ _Then that’s your own damn fault! Leave me alone!_ ”

It takes him a moment to realize—hardly registering the silence—that she’s hung up on him. 

“Damn,” he hisses to himself, nudging her affectionate cat away from his ankles, and sprinting back out the front door. 

Sometimes he can’t help but think it’s unfair. A petty and childish thought, but a warranted one. 

Only _he_ would be cursed with the responsibility of watching over two of the most stubborn young women in Midgar. 

* * *

“ _I love you_ so _much, and I’m sorry._ ”

Panic floods him. His nerves feel as if they’re going to combust on the spot, and his heart has either stopped or burst right out of his chest. 

Several missed calls, all consecutive, and one voicemail. That’s all it takes for Reeve to know exactly what she’s done, and he silently curses the Turks for letting her slip through their fingers. 

He quickly calls her, his palms growing sweaty. He fidgets with the tie around his neck, hardly able to breathe. He doesn’t even want to think about Charlie being killed beneath the plate, her body found mangled and crushed in the morning. 

What was she thinking? Does she really believe she’ll be able to do anything alone? She’s walking right into the lion’s den. The moment the grounders find out what’s going on, she’ll become their prime target—angry bandits with grudges against Shinra, hungry slum-dwellers who would immediately cut a man’s throat if it meant a few gil in their pocket, hundreds of thousands of people hiding her from plain view, allowing anything to happen so long as _they’re_ safe. 

And yet he can’t help but to admire her at the same time, her willingness to undertake such a fantastic evacuation mission at the possible cost of her own life. He loves it about her, but . . . _Gods_ , is it frustrating. 

When she doesn’t answer her phone, he decides to call Tseng next, but _he_ doesn’t answer either. Reeve almost calls Rufus, just out of pure desperation, to tell him that his sister is in danger and needs a rescue. Rufus couldn’t possibly ignore that, but Reeve doesn’t think there’s much her brother could do from Costa del Sol. By the time he arrived, it might be too late . . .

His feet take him almost instinctively to the president’s office, bursting through the doors before even thinking to knock. 

President Shinra looks up from his desk, anger flashing in his bright eyes. It makes Reeve’s heart pang painfully at the thought of never seeing Charlie angry again. 

“Director Tuesti,” the president begins in a low growl, his office reeking of cigar smoke, “I thought I made it clear that we were finished with our—”

Reeve interrupts him, hardly fearful for whatever punishment might come. “I think Charlotte is in trouble,” he blurts out, watching President Shinra’s eyes widen and his cheeks color. 

The president gets quickly to his feet. “What do you mean, son?”

He hesitates, anxiety making his entire body tremble. “I think she went down to the Sector Seven slums.”

* * *

The mouth of the corkscrew tunnel is already being flooded with fleeing refugees, some carrying their belongings and others carrying young children in their arms. 

Charlie barely sees them in time, crashing to a halt on her bike so quickly that she launches from the seat, landing hard on her back, slamming against the hard ground so fast that it knocks the wind out of her. The bike tilts, scraping against the train tracks until it hits the wall with enough force to seemingly rattle the entire tunnel. 

“Miss! Miss! Are you okay?”

She blinks up at the ceiling, seeing stars. Groaning loudly, Charlie allows the young man hovering over her to pull her up shakily to her feet. Her hand jumps to her back, the gun pressing hard against her bruised skin. 

“I’m fine,” she lies, feeling like she’s been hit by a train. She can feel brush burn already stinging her arm and leg, her clothes slightly fraying. 

“Holy shit!” the man breathes, taking a few steps back from her as others begin to flood the opening of the tunnel, stumbling over the tracks, hoping to wait out the storm. “You’re Charlotte Shinra!”

She tries desperately to shush him before others hear, but heads are already being turned, some of their gazes almost accusatory. 

“I’m here to help!” she announces, desperately hoping they believe her. “Please, just tell me what I can—”

“It’s _your_ fault they’re dropping the plate!”

The voice comes from somewhere in the crowd, a man, but others voices immediately pick up the chant, angry and frightened. 

Charlie’s heart stutters as they all move closer. “No, I—”

“We’re all gonna die down here ‘cause of _you!_ ”

“No, please, I only want to help—”

“Let her die down here with the rest of us!”

She doesn’t want to do it, but the people are advancing now, even the man who had helped her up. Charlie takes a few steps backwards, so close to the mouth of the tunnel, where she can see the entrance to the Sector Seven slums. 

Taking the gun out from the back of her pants, she holds it up in front of her with a trembling hand. Everyone freezes, all of them unarmed, some with little children. It’s not how she wants them to see her, but it gets her point across rather well. 

Charlie doesn’t even know if she has the courage to fire even a warning shot, but she knows Rufus wouldn’t hesitate, confident and intimidating with a gun in his hand. 

“Please, let me through,” she calls out evenly, not quite a command, but certainly not a mild request. “I’m trying to help you!”

“The gates to Sector Six are closed,” comes a woman’s voice, who steps forward while Charlie’s gun is trained above the heads of everyone else. A small girl is latched to her hip. “The guards won’t open them. If you tell them to let us through to Wall Market, we would be grateful.”

 _Finally,_ she thinks. _Something I can do!_ “Okay,” she says, lowering her gun, but no one moves forward, and Charlie is glad they’ve at least taken the hint. 

She tries to get the bike moving again, but one of the wheels has popped, and she makes a mental note to send a brand new, Shinra Inc. military grade bike to whoever she stole it from when she gets back.

_If I get back._

The Sector Seven slums are like a warzone. The moment she steps out of the tunnel, she’s assaulted by the smell of smoke, the air choked with smog and fire smoke, the sound of bullets ringing in her ears from up above. A small fire is spreading quickly down a narrow alleyway to her right, and several people are crowded around the gateway with the path that will, presumably, lead them to Wall Market. 

It almost makes her laugh, thinking about how safety will be found within the epicenter of crime in the city. Reno had brought her there once, to consult with Don Corneo, and she still remembers the catcalls and propositions to this day, as well as the wrath Rufus had brought down upon Reno when he found out Charlie had gone with him.

A helicopter buzzes overhead, a searchlight shining down very near to her. Charlie ducks her head down, pushing herself against a chain link fence to avoid being spotted.

Charlie pushes her way through the throng, until she’s at the very front, staring down the two guards. “What the hell are you doing?” she screeches over the sound of fighting. Glancing over her shoulder, judging by the sounds and bright lighting up above, the pillar is under attack, several Shinra helicopters flurrying around it. “Let these people through!”

“Miss Shinra!” One of the guards clicks his heels together, stiffening. “We have strict orders not to open the gate, ma’am!”

“Then I hope you’re willing to die with these people,” she snaps, seeing the guard’s mouth twist into a doubtful frown. Turning to the other guard, shaking in his uniform, she tries again. “I’m giving you an order right now, and if you choose not to follow it, then I’ll see to it that my father heard you disobeyed an order.”

The guards look at each other for a moment, and Charlie has a hard time reading their expressions with their helmets covering most of their sweaty faces. The first guard remains quiet, but the second guard concedes, pushing open the gates and very nearly getting trampled by those seeking escape.

“Thank you, Miss Shinra!”

“Bless you, Miss Shinra!”

Charlie nods, forcing herself to smile at the relieved faces that pass her. When she’s wasted enough time, she turns to the guards, who have stayed put, ushering others through the opening. “You, too,” she tells them. “They’ll need help getting to Wall Market. I’ll take care of things here.”

“But Miss Shinra!” says the second guard. “We can’t leave you behind!”

“I’ll be fine,” she tells them, as another helicopter passes overhead. She tries to see who’s inside, but it’s impossible to tell through the fire-lit darkness. “Don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll have a Turk coming to my rescue soon enough. Get going!”

“But we can’t . . .”

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats, only half-sure about it. “Now, go!”

* * *

She answers on the third try, the third call her father has placed over the course of a few minutes. Touching the button to put her on speaker, President Shinra places the phone on his desk and walks over to the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Sector Seven. From up here, all is quiet, but down below . . . 

“ _Daddy, call it off!_ ”

Reeve closes his eyes. She’s panting, and in the background of the call, he can hear gunfire and screaming and shouting, the awkward rustling of her trying to get a firm grip on her phone. The image of her bleeding and broken rushes up in his mind’s eye, but upon opening them again, the image doesn’t go away like he hoped it would. 

“Char, where are you?” President Shinra asks tersely, but Reeve recognizes a shred of concern, possibly even fear, behind the anger he projects. “You need to get back to Headquarters _now_.”

“ _No, daddy, I’m not coming back! You can’t kill all of these people! They’re innocent!_ ”

“No amount of begging from you will save them,” her father retorts loudly now, turning his back on the window to stare down at the phone. “It’s too late now.”

“ _You can’t do this!_ ”

“How could I expect you to understand the workings of governing the people?” he argues, and Reeve’s heart sinks. He can’t believe that her father is turning this into something personal, when his own daughter is down there, running the risk of being killed because she _cares_. “Get up here, goddamnit!”

“ _No!_ ”

“Char, you do as I say—”

“ _No! I’m done!_ ” she screams, her voice slightly muffled as she breathes heavily. Reeve feels his sinking heart beating painfully against his ribs. “ _Call it off or let the plate kill me!_ ”

President Shinra grinds his teeth, lifting his eyes from the phone to meet Reeve’s with a sort of vindictive sort of smile. “It’s too late for that, Char.”

Reeve’s breath hitches. He’s going to let her die. He’s going to let his own daughter die, and there’s nothing he can do about it except hope against hope that a Turk finds her before anyone else does. 

“ _Then I’m not going to listen to you anymore! If you don’t call it off, I won’t ever stop fighting against you, daddy_ —” 

President Shinra’s face goes bright red as he hangs up the phone, pressing a blue button on his desk and leaning forward. “This is your president speaking,” he begins, jaw clenched. “My daughter is down in the slums. I want every helicopter out looking for her _now_ , and if she comes back with so much as a _scratch_ on her . . .”

He meets Reeve’s eyes again for a split second, his expression betraying nothing of his true feelings.

“. . . then I’ll have you all executed.”

* * *

With the fire spreading, it’s getting more dangerous. Most of the buildings are now burning and collapsing, and the firefight on the pillar is moving ever upward, and once, Charlie thinks she sees someone fall all the way to the hard ground from halfway up.

With both guards having already evacuated a significant number of people, Charlie wanders around the maze of streets in the hopes of coercing everyone still hiding to come out of their homes, sending stragglers on their way and helping the elderly and young.

She attempts to steer clear of the helicopters that are searching for her, but more and more are coming, lighting the streets for her as she huddles in the shadows. One has already been shot down, inciting an explosion that leaves several bodies motionless on the ground, but Charlie avoids it by the skin of her teeth, her flesh stinging and burning. 

She’s able to clear some debris, help others pick survivors from the rubble of buildings that hadn’t survived the explosion, and once, a young woman dressed all in pink accidentally knocks her down after they both come sprinting around different corners.

“I’m sorry!” the girl squeaks, a few years younger than Charlie. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m all right.” Charlie pushes herself to her feet and allows her eyes a moment to focus, taking in the bright green of her eyes, the mousy brown hair, the look of pure surprise on her face. “Wait a minute . . .” she breathes, the girl half-familiar to her. “I know you . . .”

The girl smiles sweetly before darting off, just before Charlie is able to place her. Giving her head a shake, Charlie continues on her quest to evacuate the slums, knowing there is precious little time left. She doesn’t really expect her father to call off the plate dropping just because she threw a few angry words at him, but she was being honest, the most honest she’s possibly ever been with her father. 

It doesn’t take much for Charlie to find herself lost, but so long as she continues to follow the crowd, she’s certain that she’ll be able to find her way out. The last thing she really wants to do is make for Wall Market without anyone trustworthy close by, but if it means escaping a horrible death, then she’ll take it. 

Or . . . 

Charlie looks up at the pillar again, still under fire. She might be able to make it up there, so long as she doesn’t encounter any Avalanche members who will try to kill her on sight. She has her gun, and if forced to, she’ll use it to save her own life, but the idea of killing potential allies doesn’t sit well with her. 

And if she does get to the top of the pillar, it will still be too late, and she doesn’t know how to even stop it. If there’s a code or a key, she doesn’t have it. And how would she get back down if she couldn’t stop it? She’d be crushed beneath the plate with everyone else she couldn’t save from her father’s cruelty. 

Charlie hesitates, pulling her phone from her back pocket. There are fifty missed calls total between Reeve, Tseng, and her father, the screen slightly cracked after her tumble off the bike. The thought of it makes her back ache suddenly, the days’ old blisters on her skin all popped and painful. 

Reeve, Tseng, and her father. Rufus hasn’t called her once. 

_Are these my only friends?_ she thinks, frowning and looking back up at the top of the pillar again. _The man I’m going to marry, a father that would let me die, and a Turk I’ve known half my life._

This is all _her_ fault. If she hasn’t helped Jessie with the bomb . . .

_She would have made one anyway. One that could have done more damage._

How could it all have gone so wrong? All this blood will be on _her_ hands—doesn’t she owe it to the people to try?

Charlie moves closer to the pillar, stopping abruptly when she catches sight of half a building on fire. It’s her building, _Reeve’s_ building, and it’s burning down to nothing. All the money and hard work put into it, now for nothing, hardly a frame now. 

She watches it for a few seconds, heartbroken, and then she pulls her phone out of her pocket again, letting the heat of the flames wash over her, making her night blind to her surroundings. Sweat coats her skin, making her feel like she’s drowning, her shirt sticking to her flesh. 

She calls Reeve, hoping he’ll pick up. It will be sweet to hear his voice. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long.

“ _Charlie, what the hell are you doing! This is insane!_ ”

At the very sound of his voice, fear grips her heart. She can’t go up there—she can’t climb the pillar—what if she doesn’t make it back to him—

“ _Where are you? Stay there. I’m getting into a helicopter right now—_ ”

“Reeve,” she rasps, staring at the flames that burn their months of work to ashes. She’s frightened, terribly afraid, afraid to walk away a coward and afraid to climb the pillar like a hero. “I—I—”

“ _It’s all right, Charlie. Tell me where you are and we’ll come get you. I’ll take you home._ ”

“I’m . . .” Charlie runs a hand through her hair. How could she just abandon these people? “Reeve, I—”

“ _Charlie, listen to me, where are you?_ ”

Why did she call him? Hearing his voice has only sucked the courage out of her. All she wants now is to be home, in bed, his arms around her. 

“ _Don’t hang up, my love. We’ll find you._ ”

Hanging her head in defeat, she murmurs, “I’m in front of our—”

There’s a loud crack that splits the night, and the explosion that follows knocks Charlie to the ground, unconscious. 

* * *

“ _Please come to Midgar, Rufus. I need you. I need you here, please. Please come. I love you, and I need to talk to you._ ”

Rufus lowers his phone slowly from his ear. He’s listened to that voicemail nearly a dozen times. Knowing that Charlie is in trouble (what kind of trouble? why hasn’t anyone called about Charlie at all, if she _is_ in trouble?) makes his body hypersensitive, trembling, his heart pounding (what’s this feeling?). 

Leave it to him to busy himself with plans for a coup, a million miles away from Midgar, from Charlie, too busy to even notice what’s going on in the world around him. She must be furious that he hadn’t answered any of her calls, but he wishes he would have. Maybe then, he’d know what’s going on beyond the horrible lengths his father is willing to go tonight, if Reeve had been telling the truth in his desperate message to Rufus.

He _must_ have been telling the truth. There’s no other reason that Reeve would text him, if not to beg for help, beg for him to do _something._ That had been surprising, to see Charlie’s boyfriend’s name crop up on his phone. It must be the first time in years. He knows that Reeve avoids contact unless necessary, the jealous bastard. 

But if something _had_ happened to her, then Reeve would have said something. Rufus is certain of it. Reeve would have told him that Charlie was in danger, or hurt, or in need of him . . . wouldn’t he?

To drop the entire plate onto the slums . . . it even makes Rufus sick, and Charlie’s supposed to be the soft-hearted one. He can’t even begin to imagine what she might be thinking, and he can picture her flinging herself into his arms the moment he sets foot in Midgar. It will be good to hold her again, to know that she’s safe. That would be enough for him right now. 

But now, Charlie isn’t answering _his_ calls. Rufus paces before the sofa restlessly, Dark Nation’s deep-set eyes following him back and forth from his place in the corner. 

He can’t think about it. If he thinks about it, his mind will automatically assume the worst. If he thinks about it, his mind will show him violent images of Charlie hurt, bleeding, skin cold to the touch. She always answers his calls, _always._

Maybe she’s still angry with him for ignoring her. It’s not like he intended to, but he had bigger plans for today, bigger plans that are clearly going to be set in motion far sooner than he had expected. How could he let his father do something, only to let him _get away_ with it?

And now . . . Charlie might help. There’s no possible way that Charlie would accept her father’s actions as sensible. Surely she would want to fight, would want to see her brother seated in the president’s chair, standing at his right side. His father hasn’t been sensible for a long time, and the thought of finally taking over the company is too good to put off any longer.

Tseng doesn’t answer, either. That’s a bad sign. It’s unlike Tseng not to answer calls, especially from the _vice president_. 

_President_ , he thinks. _I’m going to be president soon._

He can’t help but think of it—worst case scenarios that involve his sister dying before he’s able to save her. Rufus runs his fingers through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, desperate for information, desperate for news, desperate for someone to tell him what the hell is going—

His phone dings loudly, and he fumbles with it for a moment, trying to open the text from Tseng that’s just come through.

_Charlotte with me._

Rufus’s heart leaps in his throat. She’s safe. So long as she’s with Tseng, she’s safe. He doesn’t have to worry. 

So why is this vague information still so worrying? He stares down at the message for what feels like a long time. Even Dark Nation is beginning to sense his anxiety, shifting restlessly upon the floor. 

Filled with sudden rage, Rufus’s nostrils flare, and he texts back with his heart dead set on returning to Midgar within the next twenty-four hours.

_It happens tomorrow. Make sure Charlie is far away from HQ when it does._

* * *

He’ll have to pat himself on the back when he gets the chance.

Only _he_ would be able to find an unconscious Charlotte lying amidst the wreckage of her director’s most recent project, and also coordinate the Ancient’s recapture within thirty minutes. 

If only someone were here to congratulate him for this incredible feat. 

He hadn’t even been thinking of the Ancient, too concerned about ensuring Charlotte’s safety so he could return to Headquarters without having his head off the moment he stepped through the front doors. And yet, there she had been, willingly jumping into the helicopter that would take her and the little girl to Sector Five before ultimately returning to the Shinra Building.

“You gonna introduce me to your girlfriend now?”

Tseng glances over his shoulder. There’s a look of defiance on Aerith’s face as she gazes wistfully towards the sleeping figure of Charlotte, looking almost peaceful in the backseat of the helicopter. Charlotte’s face is bright red with drying blood, her light blonde hair matted with it, two seatbelts the only things keeping her from slipping out. 

Thankfully, nothing looks broken, and her chest is still rising and falling slowly. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Tseng replies coolly, returning his gaze to the looming figure of the Shinra Building. “That’s the president’s daughter. Have a little respect, Aerith.”

“She was helping evacuate the slums, you know. We ran right into each other.”

“I know.” He looks out the window to his left. The Sector Seven plate is, currently, still intact, but going to fall any moment now, so long as Reno and Rude are able to stomach the job.

“I could probably help patch her up a little,” Aerith suggests, turning to face Charlotte. She reaches out with slender hands, as if to smother her, and Tseng nearly crashes the helicopter right into the spire of a church while he isn’t paying attention. 

“Don’t touch her,” he snaps, and Aerith’s eyes widen a little in reply. “The vice president will have your hands if he finds out you’ve touched her, even innocently.”

“The vice president? Not _the_ president?” she asks curiously, always prodding, always talking, always questioning him. It had been endearing once, when she was a child, and now . . . perhaps it’s just the stress of the current job that has him so high-strung. “Is it true that she did all those things she said in her speech?”

Tseng grits his teeth. 

The truth is, he’s _certain_ that at least _some_ of it was true, but he has no concrete evidence to prove it. Charlotte _would_ be able to access information regarding the reactors, she _would_ be able to build a bomb capable of such destruction, she _would_ take the opportunity to bring down her father. 

It all makes perfect sense, but Charlotte would never admit to it, not even to him, especially if he just came out and asked her nicely. Asking nicely never gets anyone anywhere, he’s learned.

“We’re almost there,” he notes, even though it’s obvious.

The Shinra Building is growing larger as they approach the helipad. Tseng gives Aerith a sideways glance, nothing that, despite the softness of her features and expression, she hides her fear well. Then again, it’s not really _him_ she’s frightened of. It’s Shinra, and Hojo. Any fear regarding Hojo is not entirely misplaced, he thinks. 

“I’m going to have Elena escort you to the sixty-fifth floor. She’ll meet us when we land. I have to get Charlotte to the medical bay immediately.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Aerith says, raising her eyebrows and smiling tremulously. She’s deflecting, refusing to acknowledge the cold reality he’s about to subject her to. “It’s _Charlotte_ , is it? I didn’t realize you were so friendly with the president’s daughter.”

He exhales softly, silently chastising himself. There’s too much going on right now, and it’s fogging his brain. The plate is about to drop, the vice president is planning a coup for tomorrow night, Charlotte Shinra is unconscious in the back of the helicopter, and the last living Ancient is needling him about calling Charlotte by her first name.

“I’ve known her for a long time,” he answers. “Just as long as I’ve known you.”

He almost tells Aerith _I’m sorry._ He doesn’t know why that particular phrase lingers on the tip of his tongue, tasting bitter. Aerith would probably be pleased with an apology, however, and it’s for that reason, perhaps, that he remains quiet. 


	22. Chapter 22

“Oh, thank the _Gods_ , you’re here.”

It’s not a sentence he ever expected to hear from the vice president’s mouth, but he’s too exhausted to even look surprised. Getting to his feet from the chair at Charlie’s bedside, he waits for Rufus to approach, curling and uncurling his hands into fists at his sides. 

“Is she all right? Tseng told me what happened.”

“They were able to cure most of the physical damage,” Reeve replies, gently turning over Charlie’s left hand to show her brother the blistered skin on her palms, red and raw and peeling. “But they had to give her a sedative to get her to sleep.”

Rufus chuckles darkly. “They had to give her one the night of the first bombing, as well.”

Reeve turns to face him, wondering why now, of all times, he’s forced to face the vice president. “Where have you been?” he asks, perhaps too harshly, but Rufus keeps a cool expression on his face. “Why didn’t you answer any of Charlie’s calls? If you’d just answered her phone call, you could have kept her from going down there.”

“Forgive me, Director,” Rufus says, scowling. “But I was under the impression it was _you_ she was going to marry. Shouldn’t that have been _your_ responsibility? Keeping her from doing something stupid?”

“I had business that needed tending to here. She wanted _you_.”

The words are bitter, and Rufus grins almost wickedly at the sound of them. 

“I heard what happened. Tseng told me everything,” Rufus continues happily, always talking. “Father held you hostage, didn’t he?” When Reeve fails to reply, his pride too damaged still, his silence seems answer enough. “It won’t be the last time, you know. Now that he knows what her weakness is, he’ll continue to exploit that for as long as he can. She’ll have no choice but to follow orders so long as you’re around.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Reeve says through gritted teeth. Leave it to Rufus to needle and provoke him while they’re standing over Charlie’s sleeping figure. “If you think that’s going to make me walk away—”

“You moron,” Rufus hisses, anger flashing in his eyes. “I’m trying to save your life. Do you think Charlie would ever forgive me if I let something happen to you?” He scoffs, his lip curling. “You think I don’t know what I’m saying? Father has threatened his own daughter more times that I can count, when I refused to do what he wanted. Not that it mattered. Not a single Turk that’s been part of our lives would have ever laid a _finger_ on her, at my command.”

“You think by sending me away, you’ll be saving my life?” The idea makes him angry. Rufus isn’t kind, nor is he sentimental or compassionate. He’s manipulative, cruel, possessive, and Reeve is certain that none of this has anything to do with saving his life. “Ask her SOLDIER how that worked out.”

“I didn’t send her SOLDIER away,” Rufus says quickly, too quickly to be a lie. He almost sounds offended. “That was Lazard’s doing, when it became clear Charlie was becoming a distraction. She was starting to hang around the training room a little too often, and getting a little too close to that perfect monster.” 

Rufus chuckles, as if the memory is at all funny. Reeve remembers how many tears were shed over her SOLDIER, remembers how her feet had dragged for weeks, remembers how she had begged Lazard for a shred of information, crying when he told her, apologetically, that there had been no news. 

Her brother reaches down to adjust his sister’s blanket. “The journalist, though. I did have him killed.”

“On what grounds?”

Rufus smiles. “Nervous?” he asks mockingly. “I had the actor shot, too. You can thank Reno for that nasty bit of back-alley business. But don’t worry. You’re too important to have killed. It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think, _brother?_ ”

Reeve is quiet, unwilling to pull his gaze away from Charlie’s peaceful-looking face. He doesn’t have the strength to continue arguing with Rufus, who will never back down. It’s all to get a rise out of him, to see a show of anger, of jealousy, of protectiveness. Giving Rufus what he wants would only serve to make things worse, to feed into his ego. 

“If I really wanted you killed, I would have done it the morning after you raped my sister.”

This casual accusation knocks the breath out of Reeve all at once, his face coloring painfully. “I can assure you, that’s not what happened.”

Rufus smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t look so guilty, Director. Better you than someone else from the company.” Turning to face Reeve, he continues, business-like. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much about my father. Tell her to call me, when she wakes. I’ll be around.”

Reeve watches him go, sighing. Rufus is definitely up to something, but he has far bigger priorities now—Charlie, for one, and the aftermath of the now collapsed plate.

* * *

The unexpected demolition of his building had surprised him, but he hadn’t been truly worried until Tseng reported finding Charlie by the flaming wreckage. 

The damage survey is still being calculated. Shinra hadn’t bothered to dispatch anyone to the now non-existent slum beneath Sector Seven, but Reeve can see the helicopters scouring the ruins of the top-side, hardly anything there. 

More than half the plate is completely gone, having crashed down three hundred meters to the browned earth, and the only part that remains relatively intact is the part closest to Sector Zero, where the remaining two pillars stand precariously, causing tremors to ripple through the remainder of the sector and affecting the buildings that have yet to be razed to the ground. 

It’s an impossible task. He’ll never be able to secure the funding (just like Sector Six . . . how long has it been now?), and no amount of rebuilding will make up for the hundreds of thousands of lives taken tonight. 

He wants to leave, to pack Charlie up and take her far away from the influence of her family. How can he possibly continue to work for a corporation that has sucked the life from him, the joy and passion? A company that is unafraid to exterminate an entire sector and the shantytown below in the hopes of killing off a mere handful of eco-terrorists? 

Reeve would have to hide them well. Surely the Turks would be the first dispatched, with the goal of finding them (possibly eliminating him altogether while dragging Charlie back to Midgar). He doesn’t even know where he would take her, isn’t aware of any places far enough removed from Shinra’s rule that he considers _truly_ safe for them. The Turks would find them immediately, he knows.

And if he _does_ leave, what power will either of them have? Once their money is used up on travel and supplies and a new home, they’ll have nothing. He supposes the both of them could find work easily with their many talents, but who would want to hire the disgraced daughter of President Shinra and her doormat fiancé? 

Why hadn’t he demanded President Shinra call it off? Why didn’t he continue to fight until he was killed for disloyalty and insolence? Why didn’t he try and stop it (how would he have?) or make for either above or below the plate to insist upon immediate evacuations? Why had he left that duty to Charlie, when he was there, right there, watching the plate fall from his office window? 

There’s so much more he could have done, if he wasn’t a coward. He’ll never be the hero Charlie thinks he is, and tonight has made that fact very clear to him. 

But if he leaves now, how could he help? At least here, at Shinra, he still has _some_ power afforded him, the power to do some good in the world and make people's lives slightly easier. Running away would mean turning his back, not only on Shinra, but on the people of Midgar, his _home_. 

Work is the last thing he wants to do now. His mind is buzzing with thoughts of Charlie, thoughts of what may come next after such a disaster, the helplessness that plagues him, unable to do anything for her, for the people, for the city. 

He picks up one of the photographs on his desk, one of him and Charlie at a fundraiser. She’s beaming up at him, an arm around his waist and her eyes closed as he kisses the tip of her nose. The tuxedo she had urged him to wear was stiff and uncomfortable, the bow tie tight and rubbing awkwardly at his throat, but Charlie had been thrilled to see him so dressed up, and he would do it again to see her smile like that. 

She hasn’t been herself lately. Ever since coming back from Rocket Town, it seems as if there’s a fire beneath her feet, igniting the passion she lost after the failure of her rocket launch. She’s become more defiant, more rebellious, not that she’s never been that way. 

Reeve can’t quite put his finger on it, but what he thought to just be the symptoms of her concussion seem to be something greater, a desire burning within her to . . . to do what?

Running to the Sector Seven slums was foolish, there’s no denying it. 

But at least she had the courage to go through with it. 

* * *

“Ugh . . .” 

Charlie’s eyes flutter open. The sun is setting over Midgar through the tall windows, changing the color of the white sheet thrown over her to a dark orange. 

“Well, well, well. You’ve been sleepin’ for a long time.”

Her neck snaps with the force that she turns to look left. There’s no mistaking the bright red hair, the nasally voice. “Reno!” she gasps, looking him over.

He doesn’t look good. His face is swollen and bruised, his bottom lip split and his nose broken, skin covered with a myriad of bandages. “Why don’t you take a picture?” he snaps, looking up at the ceiling. 

Charlie takes a quick look around while he sulks in the bed beside her. It’s a minute before she remembers how she had gotten here, still feeling a bit groggy. It’s probably the sedative wearing off, the one they had injected straight into her arm without warning. 

In the doctor’s defense, she was a little hysterical. 

She sits up quickly upon remembering the events before that. The building had exploded and knocked Charlie out. The next time she had opened her eyes, it was to find Tseng looking down at her, forcing her eyelid back with his thumb and shining a light down at her, and then after another short while, she had opened them once more to find herself being rolled into the medical bay, confused and frightened. 

“Reno, the plate—”

He looks at her very seriously, his lips pursed tight, and then he shakes his head. 

Charlie falters, unable to find words to express how she’s feeling—horror, grief, guilt, anger, despair. Part of her is glad she hasn’t seen it, not wanting to relive it over and over again in her sleep, but another part of her thinks she really deserved that salt in her wound. She should have been forced to look at what her actions have caused. 

“Where’s Reeve?” she asks shrilly.

“I’m _fine_ , thanks for asking,” Reno scoffs.

“Why are you being such a jerk?” Charlie hisses at him, watching his mouth curl into a scowl. “Where’s Reeve?”

“Don’t worry, he’s been coming every hour, _on_ the hour.” Reno rolls over onto his side, grunting and moaning in pain, before propping himself on an elbow to look at her. “I’m getting sick of lookin’ at him.”

“Be nice to him, Reno,” she scolds him, earning herself another scoff. “What happened to you?”

“Why do you care? Worried ‘bout me, princess?”

Charlie looks him over warily. She doesn’t know what to say. “Who did that to you?”

“Avalanche. Tried to stop the plate dropping, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. What happened to them? Did _you_ drop the plate?”

Reno frowns. She can’t really be mad at _him_. The order never came from his mouth, and he had only been a good and loyal employee. It’s not like Reno would disobey a direct order. “What are you asking so many goddamn questions for, Charlie?”

“You can’t talk to me like that.” She looks around the large room again, the beds all empty save for the two of them. “Where’s Tseng?”

“Tseng, Tseng, _Tseng_ ,” Reno drawls, falling onto his back again. “I dunno, Charlie. He came back to HQ with that Ancient last night—”

“What? No, he didn’t,” Charlie tells him. “He came back here with me.”

“Yeah, _and_ the Ancient.”

“What Ancient?”

“The one from Sector Five.”

Charlie purses her lips. She isn’t quite sure who he’s referring to, and she doesn’t remember anyone else being aboard the helicopter with her and Tseng, but she doesn’t really remember the helicopter ride, either. 

“Where’s my phone? I need to talk to him,” she says, mostly to herself. She looks around, but her phone is nowhere to be seen. The only thing on her small nightstand is a fluorescent lamp that gives her a throbbing headache. 

“Probably crushed beneath the Sector Seven plate with everything else.”

She growls through gritted teeth. “Where’s my gun?”

“The hell do you need a _gun_ for?” Reno pushes himself into a sitting position. “Who gave _you_ a _gun?_ ”

“Rufus did—”

“Of course he did. You’re gonna seriously hurt someone with that thing—”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” she snaps back, “after what you did last night. Sleep well with that weighing on your non-existent conscience?” 

“Yeah, like a baby.” There’s something bitter about the way he says it. 

“Gods, you’re the worst,” she continues, unable to stop herself. It feels good to unleash on someone, someone who’s more than willing to fight back, to remind her that she isn’t innocent. “I don’t even know why I bother with you. You’re such a rat. All you Turks are the same—”

“Don’t pretend you hate us _now_ ,” Reno spits, anger written across his puffy face. It’s discomforting to see him this way, but Charlie can’t stop now. She needs him to know that what he did was wrong, if her assumptions are correct. “Besides, if you hated us Turks so much, you wouldn’t always be asking for _Tseng Tseng_ _Tseng_. He’s our leader, you know, and if any of us are guilty, then it’s him.”

Charlie clenches her jaw. She doesn’t want to think of Tseng as someone who can be cruel and cold when the job demands it, not after the unconditional kindness he’s continually shown her since she was a young girl. She knows that he can be friendly and funny, patient and loyal. 

And yet he had kidnapped a girl last night, has overseen the destruction of a few small villages in the past, was involved with shady members of Shinra when he first joined the ranks. Charlie has watched him brutally beat suspected criminals with a straight face, without flinching, and knows that he’s as much a killer as any other Turk.

“At least Tseng is respectful,” Charlie says after a moment, blushing heatedly. “You lack _any_ grace, Reno.”

“I don’t give a damn about _grace_.”

“You might, if you knew what it meant.”

“Y’know, just because you’re a ‘genius’—” He holds his hands up to curl his fingers into mocking air quotes—“doesn't mean the rest of us are idiots.” She’s done it now, she’s gone and made him _really_ angry. “You and the director sit up all high and mighty in the penthouse your sugar daddy brother pays for, acting _so_ self-righteous, but you’re just as bad as the rest of us, pockets lined with that pretty gold blood money. We’re just doin’ the dirty work for you so you can keep your hands clean and your pockets full.”

“You’re _such_ an ass—”

She falls silent at the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Charlie flushes, and evening Reno shifts uncomfortably in bed, his cheeks tinted pink. Tseng watches them carefully, hands held behind his back. “Feeling any better, Reno?”

“No better than I look, Boss, but thanks for caring more than Charlie.”

“Where’s Reeve?” she asks Tseng, hoping to quickly distract him so he doesn’t bring up whatever he heard her say just now. “And where’s my phone?”

“The director is currently in his office, already drawing up plans for the reconstruction of Sector Seven. An emergency board meeting has recently been called,” Tseng answers immediately. “And your phone was missing when I lifted you into the helicopter. I’ll have a new one issued for you the moment I’m able.”

Charlie groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, a _bugged_ phone, no doubt.”

“Your father, the president, has requested to see you, Charlotte,” Tseng says again, ignoring her last comment completely. Charlie lowers the hand on her face to look up at him once more. “When you’re feeling able, of course.”

“No way!” she hisses, keeping her voice down. “Like I’m going to go up there and allow him to beat me—”

Tseng holds up a hand to stop her. “That’s not his intention. He simply has a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor? From me? What is it?”

He glances quickly at Reno, who scoffs again and rolls over to put his back to both Charlie and Tseng. “Come with me,” Tseng insists, holding out a hand for her, “if you’re feeling all right.”

Curious, Charlie throws the blankets off her legs and goes with him, walking through the semi-empty hallways of Shinra Headquarters. Most of the people who are still working are locked away in conference rooms and offices, trying to figure out a way to save the city from drowning in debt after the destruction caused by the dropping of the plate.

She still can’t believe it, but she refuses to look out any of the windows they pass, afraid to see that it’s _true_. 

“Where’s Rufus? Does he know about this?” Charlie asks as they enter the glass elevator that will take them straight to her father’s office. She keeps her eyes trained on the door, despite how badly she wants to turn around and see the consequences of her actions.

“The vice president is in the city. He came to see you while you slept,” he says. “When your father is finished talking to you, I will bring you to him.”

“No, I want to see Reeve first.”

“The director is very busy, Charlotte. I’ll bring you to your brother, but I’ll let Director Tuesti know that you asked for him.”

It’s quiet for a moment between them. It bothers Charlie that Tseng can continue to act so cool and aloof, even after what had just happened. “You kidnapped a girl,” she whispers, afraid that someone might hear the weakness in her voice. “Reno told me. You kidnapped an Ancient.”

Tseng looks thoroughly annoyed by this information, but forces himself to smile at her. “The girl came of her own accord,” he replies flatly. “Besides, she couldn’t do what she was told.”

“Which was?”

This time, the smile on his face seems a bit more genuine when Charlie lifts her eyes to look into his face. “She was incapable of following an order, one that instructed her to remain at home. Instead, I found her in the Sector Seven slums.”

Charlie purses her lips. “Did Rufus know about this?”

“No,” he answers firmly. “I can assure you, Charlotte, your brother’s hands are entirely clean of the situation. Don’t blame him for it.”

She falls quiet again, just for a few seconds. “The other night, the bombing of mako reactor five . . .” she begins, blushing. “Did you watch?”

“I did.”

“That man had Angeal’s sword.”

“It certainly seemed so.”

Upon entering the president’s office, Tseng lingers by the doors as Charlie wanders around, the office completely empty save for the two of them. “Where’s my father?” she snaps, irritated by the long walk to an empty office, irritated with Tseng and her father and especially Reno. “Is he supposed to be here?”

“He will be, at the conclusion of the board meeting. Wait here, and don’t go anywhere.”

Charlie turns around to face the doors again, only to find that Tseng is slowly closing them, hardly abashed. She sprints to him, reaching him just as the doors slam shut, hearing the outside lock _click!_ shut. 

Infuriated and humiliated, she pounds on the doors with her fists, screaming at him, unsure if he’s even standing out there, listening. “What are you _doing!_ Let me _out!_ ”

“It will only be for a little while, as you wait for the president,” comes Tseng’s muffled voice. 

“Tseng! Let me out _now!_ ” She bangs a few more times on the door, her heart racing. “Let me out or I’ll tell Rufus what you did! I’ll tell him you touched me! I’ll have him kill you!” When Tseng fails to answer her, she sighs, resting her forehead against the door and closing her eyes. “Please, Tseng, let me out . . . please, it’s me, it’s Charlotte, _please_ . . . open the door, Tseng, for me . . . I’ll do anything you ask of me, please . . .”

He must have left her, because certainly he would have at least answered such a desperate plea. Then again, if Rufus had been immune to her girlish charm over the many voicemails she’d left him, then maybe Tseng has grown past that, as well. 

“I _hate_ you!” she continues, feeling tears budding in her eyes, slamming a palm against the door. If she turns around, if she looks through the windows that line her father’s office, she’ll _have_ to look at Sector Seven. “I hate you! I wish I’d never met you!”

Whirling around, her chest heaving, Charlie makes for her father’s phone, immediately dialing the extension to Reeve’s assistant, glad to hear her pick up after the second ring.

“ _Thank you for calling the Shinra Electric Power Company’s Urban Development Department. You’ve reached the office of Director Reeve Tues_ —”

“It’s Charlotte. Put Reeve on the phone right now.”

“ _I_ — _I’m sorry, ma’am, but the director is currently in a board meeting_ —”

Charlie slams the phone back down, hanging up violently. Steeling herself for the worst, she takes a few steps past her father’s desk, stepping up to the window to look out upon the darkened city.

There’s a gaping hole where Sector Seven had been. No power is left, no pretty lights illuminating the cityscape. The plate is gone, save for a small section near Headquarters, and all the buildings and lives that have gone down with it . . . 

From seventy floors up, it’s difficult to discern what’s really going on down there, but it’s a completely different scene from the reactor bombings. Crisis management seems slow and scattered, and there are significantly less helicopters circling the rubble than _she_ might have dispatched. 

Perhaps her father had realized that not many people would have survived the plate drop compared to the amount of survivors that made it through the bombing.

Charlie takes a few steps backwards, her stomach churning.

What will Reeve think? What would he say if she told him this was all her fault? What would he say if she told him the complete truth? Could he even look her in the eyes again after that? How could he ever want to marry someone with so much blood on their hands?

Would it be too much to ask for some time before confessing? Would it be asking too much to want to be held by him once more, to be kissed and loved once more, to wake up beside him just _one more time_? 

She’s kept waiting for at least an hour. When the doors to President Shinra’s office finally open again, Charlie is almost disappointed that it isn’t Tseng or Rufus or Reeve, someone to get her out of here and avoid her father altogether. 

He hardly acknowledges her, walking right to his desk to sit down heavily in his chair, opening a desk drawer to pull out a fresh cigar. He sniffs at it critically before flicking a metal lighting against his thick thumb, puffing at his cigar while it lights. It’s a horrible process to witness.

“Let’s talk, Char,” he says after a moment, groaning in relief as he leans back in his chair, looking exhausted. 

She has not a shred of sympathy for him. He doesn’t even have the decency to ask if she’s all right, to ask why she had gone down into the slums. He doesn’t bring up their conversation, doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he would have killed his own daughter to make a damn point to a small group of terrorists. 

It’s the straw that breaks her back. 

“You want to _talk?_ ” Charlie stands opposite her father, her palms splayed across the cool desktop. “I have several things I’d like to say to you, you—”

“Go on, then. Get it over with.”

She blinks in surprise at him. Despite her not having begun yet, President Shinra already seems exasperated. No doubt he’s already well aware of all the things his daughter wants to say, but she’s going to say them anyway.

“How could you _do_ that?” she shrieks, hoping that the entirety of her father’s security detail can hear her. She wants the entire building to hear her, the entire city, the entire world. “You killed all those people and you don’t even care! You would have killed _me_ and you wouldn’t even have batted an eye! Do you understand how insane you have to be to do something so—”

“Ah, Shinra didn’t cause the Sector Seven plate to fall,” President Shinra interrupts her, smiling faintly. “Avalanche did, Char.”

“Avalanche,” Charlie repeats, laughing weakly. “You are unbelievable.” She straightens, crossing her arms over her chest, in complete disbelief. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. She’s always known that her father is cold and cruel. “Don’t you care? Don’t you feel a shred of remorse for what you’ve done?”

President Shinra looks at his daughter for a long time. He’s not going to bring up his own feelings (if he even has any). “I need a favor from you, Char.”

“Like I would do _anything_ for you after you had a gun held to Reeve’s head,” she retorts, offended that he would ask for even a simple favor. “If you want me to do something for you, you can just skip to having me killed next time, and leave him out of it.”

“Don’t worry. The favor I need is not one that you’ll inherently dislike, I think,” he continues, standing up. His chair creaks and groans, likely relieved that it’s not suffering under her father’s weight anymore. “In fact, I cannot think of anyone more suited to such a task. Who would have thought that your _charm_ would one day come in handy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Have you ever heard stories of the Promised Land?”

She thinks for a moment, unable to tell what her father is thinking. “It’s a fairytale. Veld used to read me stories like that.” Charlie takes a certain pleasure in the fact that it must burn her father up inside to know this Turk he hated so much was more of a father to her than any other man in her life. 

“It’s no fairytale,” President Shinra continues, scowling at the mention of Veld, and blowing his cigar smoke in Charlie’s face. “The Promised Land is real, a land of untapped resources, a land of infinite mako energy.”

She frowns. “‘We who are born of the planet, with her we speak. Her flesh we shape. Unto her promised land shall we one day return. By her loving grace and providence may we take our place in paradise.’”

Her father smiles tersely. “I see you’ve been taking advantage of the theater we’ve put in.”

“Mother used to read that poem.” She knows it’s unwise to mention their mother, but if it displeases her father, he does well hiding it behind a cold mask of determination. “Where is it, then?”

“Only an Ancient can lead us to their Promised Land,” he says gruffly, “and as it happens, we currently have the last surviving Ancient in our custody.”

Charlie’s heart beats a little faster. “The girl that Tseng kidnapped . . .”

“Yes, the girl that Tseng _brought willingly_ is an Ancient, the last of her race, and very important in regards to this company’s prosperity. She will lead us to the Promised Land, with your help, of course, my girl.” He begins to pace in front of her, allowing Charlie a moment to think. “She’s currently being held comfortably in Professor Hojo’s lab. He has assured me, only recently, that her cooperation is guaranteed, and who better to first attempt the extracting of such information than . . . you?”

“You want me to torture her?”

“Torture? Dear girl, now really!” President Shinra tilts his head back and laughs loudly. Leave it to her father to laugh at something that’s not even a joke. “Is that the first place your mind goes? No, no . . . you’re too soft-hearted, what with your woman’s heart. You’re the very last person I would ask for something of that nature. Your Turks, on the other hand . . . they may come in handy . . .”

“I don’t want to hear anymore,” she says suddenly, afraid that her father will only continue to tell her things about the Turks that will taint her image of them. “Why should I do anything for you? How do I know that, if I refuse, you won’t hold Reeve hostage again?”

“You want something in return, is that it? Certainly you do, if you’re any spawn of _mine_ ,” he chortles, pressing his lit cigar against the ashtray, the ends splitting with the force of the pressure he puts on it. “Fine. If you’re able to extract the information we need from her, I’ll give you your old department back. Would that make you happy?”

“I don’t want to be Director of Communications anymore.”

“No, not that. Your other department.”

Charlie’s heart leaps in her throat. It’s something she’s dreamed of for nearly five years now, wanted it more than she’s wanted anything, even the vice presidency. “The Space Exploration Department?” 

“I’m certain I can find another job for Palmer within the company . . . one that requires less thinking on his end, and less _doing_. I will not deny that you are certainly more capable. But don’t think that means I’m prepared to refund the department. With the Promised Land within our reach yet again . . .” He turns to look out the window, and she’s sure that he’s hiding a smile from her. “There will be no need for space travel, not with an unlimited supply of mako running beneath our very feet.”

_He’ll give you a title to appease you, nothing more,_ she thinks. _There will be no power, no projects, only a salary and an empty title._

She wants it bad. She wants to start on a new rocket, with Captain Cid Highwind at her side, going through the motions with her. But even if she does as her father says, it’s unlikely she’ll ever even get that far, and President Shinra (and Rufus, she supposes, as well) would never allow Cid within fifty miles of whatever project Charlie takes up.

Charlie knows it will likely be impossible to help the girl. If she’s being held in Hojo’s lab (she’s hesitant to even walk into the lab without someone at her side), then she knows that she won’t be entirely alone. There will be cameras, and if she wants to break her out of wherever she’s being kept, Charlie will need a key or a passcode or general knowledge of Hojo’s experimental devices that she knows nothing about. 

What’s so bad about finding the Promised Land anyway? _Unlimited mako_. . . if that’s true, why wouldn’t someone see fit to use it? 

Mako has made peoples’ lives infinitely better, providing them with power and comfort, working the engines in their cars and helicopters and airships and boats, powering the theaters and restaurants people visit to escape reality. If it truly was an infinite supply, the world would _thrive_. 

_What would it do to the planet, to use so much mako?_

The reactors in Midgar alone have sucked the very life from the surrounding earth, leaving only an ugly reminder of what happens when a corporation becomes too greedy, when the people become complacent with their comfortable lives. 

“Okay,” she rasps, against all of her better judgement. “Okay, I’ll talk to her.”

President Shinra turns around quickly, perhaps surprised at her agreement, but before he’s able to say anything, someone knocks on the door three times in quick succession. “Who is it?” he booms.

The door cracks open just a sliver, so their visitor can be heard. “It’s Tseng, sir, with an urgent message.”

“Urgent, you say?” Her father picks up his cigar again, putting it to his lips, but not yet lighting it. “Go on, then, son. Come in, come in. I was just having a healthy little chat with Char. You’ll be pleased to know she’s agreed to speak to the Ancient.”

“Very good, sir.” Tseng glances sideways at Charlie as he walks up to her side, standing at the front of President Shinra’s desk. “We’ve captured some intruders, Mr. President.”

President Shinra’s cigar falls from his lips and his face turns bright red. “Intruders? Who are these criminals?”

“The remaining members of Avalanche, sir, and . . .” He clears his throat. “The Ancient. All of them are currently in custody while I await your next order.”

“How did they get in?”

“The emergency stairwell, it seems, Mr. President. They came for the Ancient.”

President Shinra growls, his mustache twitching. Leaving his cigar lying on the floor, he turns to his daughter. “Stay here, Char, so we can discuss the next steps. I need to see this with my own eyes first, since Shinra’s Turks are clearly incapable of detecting trouble _before_ it runs up the emergency stairwell.”

Tseng averts his eyes, the back of his neck growing slightly red. Charlie almost feels bad for him, but after a moment, the feeling fades. She’s been the subject of her father’s insults for years, and it’s nice to see someone else on the receiving end.

“Show me to their cells. I want to see them,” President Shinra tells Tseng, who nods. “You best be here when I return, Char.”

She sighs. “Yes, Father.”


	23. Chapter 23

Charlie tugs at the doors of her father’s office. 

_Locked,_ she thinks. _Of course they are._

She could very well call Rufus to let her out, but he might arrive with guns blazing, prepared to stage a rescue mission that only serves to infuriate their father. She could call Reeve, as well, but the last thing she wants is for him to be anywhere _near_ her father after the stunt President Shinra pulled. 

Alone in the president’s office, Charlie looks around. She knows there are no cameras in here, likely because her father doesn’t want anyone spying on him. She steps up to his desk, where the remains of his slightly smoking cigar linger. She presses it out completely, sitting down in her father’s chair and inhaling deeply. 

She splays her hands against the cool desktop, imagining herself in this position in earnest, imagining the entirety of Shinra Electric Power Company obeying her every command, living to serve her and her father’s legacy in the form of an empire. 

Even the Turks would no longer treat her with such flagrant disrespect, calling her “Madam President” instead of “Charlie”, like they’ve been doing for years now. She can’t imagine what might happen if any of the Turks called _Rufus_ by his name. In all likelihood, none of them have probably ever had the courage to even try it. 

Maybe she wouldn’t mind it, the queer friendship they’ve struck up. Maybe having others call her by her first name would show that her employees are comfortable with her, not at all afraid of her like they are of her father. Fear can only get someone so far, but generosity and kindness . . . those are the types of things that will last forever. 

Her curiosity gets the better of her. Charlie opens the topmost drawer of her father’s desk, only to find several envelopes addressed to the company, already opened, many of them invoices of some type. He’s kept a small stack of old memos dated from years prior, memos in regards to the development of certain weapons. 

The middle drawer is locked, but Charlie can’t find a key anywhere. She looks underneath the chair, under his keyboard, behind the several monitors he has that show nothing of importance, and even underneath his desk, where she finds a switch marked with the letter ‘L’, but she leaves that untouched, at least, sure that something will explode or start firing if she touches it. 

The bottom-most drawer holds a small, wooden box. The box is locked, as well, but the key is in the same drawer, a small bronze thing that slides into the lock satisfyingly, springing open to reveal the inner contents. 

There are only two things inside the box—a yellowed, ancient-looking envelope with _CHAR_ written on it in smudged blue ink, and an even older-looking photograph. Charlie removes the envelope and tucks it away in her pocket, closes and locks the box again to put it away, and holds the photograph up to her face. 

The coloring isn’t as good as it likely was when it was first taken, but it’s not completely faded. It’s a picture of her family, their complete family, and Charlie looks no older than five, half-turned towards the camera while being held in her father’s arms. Rufus stands at their mother’s side, wearing a stiff-collared, button-down shirt that’s tucked into shorts that show off his skinny little legs, his light blond hair parted severely off to the side. 

She doesn’t remember the picture ever being taken, but it must have coincided with the buying of the beach house in Costa del Sol, because they’re all standing in front of it, looking happy (save for Rufus, who looks rather _un_ happy with his picture being taken) in the warm summer sun. Even President Shinra is smiling begrudgingly, holding his cigar far away from his daughter. 

Charlie brushes the pad of her thumb over her mother’s face. She was a beautiful woman, always full of life and seemingly flushed, her hair a pretty strawberry blonde color, her cheeks and nose spattered with light freckles. Her eyes had been green, the color of the forest, with long eyelashes and light eyebrows, a round face and petite frame. 

The most beautiful woman in the world.

Neither Charlie nor Rufus have inherited their mother’s look, but at least Charlie can say she inherited her mother’s personality. She’s proud of that, at least.

Before getting up from her father’s seat, she attempts to break into his computer, hoping to read a few e-mails or notes that might give her some insight as to what Shinra’s really been up to, but it’s impossible. She has no idea what her father’s password might be, and there’s so _many_ of them to bypass that it’s no use to keep trying. 

She keeps the photograph and continues pacing around the office, waiting for her father to return. 

She’s overlooking the destruction of the Sector Seven plate when she hears the noise, a noise that cuts through the silence and sends a chill down her spine. A scream—a high-pitched, frightened scream, slightly muffled beyond the doors of the president’s office, and cut-off very suddenly, so quickly that it makes her nervous. 

Charlie tries to get through the doors again, but to no avail. Instead, she’s trapped in this office, and the scream stays with her all the while. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s afraid—she’s alone, defenseless, vulnerable, trapped, and desperately, desperately afraid. 

Is it possible Avalanche managed to free themselves? Could it be possible? They had broken in undetected, and Charlie knows that, among Shinra’s enormous staff, there must be collaborators that she doesn’t know of. 

Could they have broken out of their cells? Is it possible that they might be making their slow ascent towards the top floor, eager to repay President Shinra for what he had done to their friends, family, and homes?

And, if they do make it up to the top floor, only to find her here, alone, why wouldn’t they kill her? Surely they had seen the speech she gave, threatening immediate execution to those who ally themselves with those eco-terrorists ( _what a hypocrite, I am_ ). She’s just another Shinra to them, and her death would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, just killing her to put an end to the family.

She has a hard time believing they would show her mercy. Charlie had made it very clear to both Pia and Jessie that her association with Avalanche needed to be kept a heavily-guarded secret, and as far as she’s aware, they had kept that secret very admirably and honorably. 

Is it possible they might believe her if she confessed to building the bombs? Or would they be upset, would they feel betrayed, having been blamed for all the recent destruction and death?

Another high-pitched and terrified scream rips through the still air, cut short just like the last one, sounding like it comes from directly beneath her feet. 

Charlie throws herself into President Shinra’s throne again, picking up the telephone and dialing as fast as she can. Rufus answers on the second ring, with a contemptuous, “ _What have I done this time?_ ”

“It’s me,” she breathes into the phone, watching the doors as if waiting for someone to come bursting through them, guns drawn, sword raised high, prepared to strike. “I think something’s happening, something bad, and I need your help, please come get me—”

“ _What do you mean?_ ” he asks quickly, suddenly far more kinder sounding than before, when he must have thought it was their father calling him. “ _Charlie, where are you? What’s going on? Are you all right?_ ”

“I’m in Father’s office,” she explains quickly, growing more fearful by the moment. “He called me here, but . . . he’s locked me in to go have a look at Avalanche. They’ve been arrested for trespassing, but I—someone is screaming, and I—I’m locked in and I’m afraid—”

“ _Hide somewhere safe._ _I’ll be there soon._ ”

Charlie feels even more afraid when her brother hangs up the phone. The line on the other end beeps for a long time in her ear before disconnecting completely, her heart pounding hard against her chest. 

The sound of approaching footsteps (quick, fast, heavy, _fearful_ , running) and shouting flips on her fight-or-flight instincts. There’s nowhere for her to go, no helicopter to take her away, no possible escape. If she wants to leave the president’s office, she’ll have to leave through the locked doors, possibly exposing herself to some violent terrorists currently stirring up trouble. 

She looks around the massive office, lacking a comfortable amount of furniture and hiding spaces, but there is a tall wardrobe, one that keeps extra suit jackets for her father in case of a wardrobe emergency, just big enough for her to squeeze into. 

Upon opening the wardrobe, she pushes the jackets aside, pressing her back against the far wall and closing the doors, leaving them cracked just slightly to see through to the office. She has a perfect view of her father’s empty seat and desk, but the doors are closed enough that no one should notice she’s even here.

Unless they actively look for her. 

Almost immediately after Charlie settles in her hiding spot, hoping that Rufus will arrive within the next few minutes with a helicopter to take her away from here, the doors to the office are very nearly kicked open. She almost screams, but it’s only her father and . . . _Palmer_. 

The both of them are muttering to each other, foreheads glistening with sweat. She’s never seen her father wear such an expression before, one that almost looks concerned. 

“Barricade the door,” President Shinra says in a low voice, helping Palmer push some chairs in front of the doors, stacking end tables on top of them, unplugging lamps to add them to the pile of furniture. 

As Palmer continues stacking whatever he can get his hands on (thankfully, he takes one look at the heavy wardrobe and shakes his head), her father whirls around with wide eyes, scanning the office. 

“Where the hell is Char?”

Charlie hesitates, prepared to step out of the wardrobe, but something holds her back. The sight of both her father and Palmer looking so distraught is something she’s never had the pleasure of witnessing before, but it’s the very fact that her father is distraught _at all_ that keeps her from revealing herself. 

“How the hell did that girl escape?” President Shinra continues, stooping to look underneath his desk, glancing out one of the nearby windows to check and see if she’s outside. “Perhaps . . . it’s for the best . . . she must be safe if she’s escaped . . . good . . .”

“Do you really think this will keep him out?” Palmer asks, stepping away from the doors to mop his forehead with a crinkled handkerchief. “. . . don’t know how it’s possible . . . died five years ago . . .”

President Shinra seats himself at his desk, clasping his hands together in front of him. There’s something in his face that Charlie isn’t able to place. It might be fear, but she’s never seen her father afraid before, so it’s impossible to say for certain. 

“. . . perhaps we were misled,” her father replies in a quiet voice, staring straight ahead at the doors. “. . . wouldn’t be the first time . . . odd things . . . those friends of his . . .”

“. . . have your daughter speak to him . . . once friends . . .”

With the hushed conversation they have, nearly huddled together behind the president’s desk, it becomes harder for Charlie to hear what they’re saying. Their voices are slowly becoming drowned out by the pulse that’s pounding in her ears. 

“. . . other one . . . not Sephiroth . . .”

Charlie clamps a hand over her mouth at the mention of Sephiroth. It can’t be possible—Sephiroth, back in Shinra Headquarters for the first time in five years? The last she had heard, the First Class SOLDIER had been killed due to a freak accident in some backwoods village called Nibelheim on the western continent. 

And if Sephiroth really is here at Headquarters . . . why do her father and Palmer seem so afraid of that fact? Does _she_ have to be afraid? Surely Sephiroth would show her mercy before Avalanche . . . wouldn’t he?

_Where are you, Rufus?_ She tries to look between the doors towards the window, hoping for a glimpse of a helicopter in the sky, hurtling towards the helipad outside, prepared to extract her. _Please let Reeve be okay, please let him be safe, please let us go home together tonight, please don’t let tonight be the end._

She can hear Palmer’s heavy and shaky breathing from across the room, but her father’s face remains impassive, his breathing coming rather raggedly, as well. The office falls completely silent, and Charlie can’t tell if the steady thumping is her own heart or footsteps outside the barricaded doors. 

The doorknob twists slightly, locked, only for a second before its left alone again. Charlie holds her breath, wondering if another effort to get in will be made, or if whoever is on the other side will walk away and leave them be. She fears that whoever is attempting to come in will hear her breathing, find her, and rip her from her hiding place. 

Palmer dives behind a column, despite being just as wide as it. He slumps down to his bottom, awkwardly holding his knees to his chest, leaning back against the column and working to control his breathing. 

President Shinra is so focused on the stack of furniture blocking the door that he doesn’t see the threat that appears suddenly behind him, phasing up through the very floor until he’s standing directly behind her father. Charlie has to bite down on her knuckles at the very sight, one that frightens her, one that makes her think she might be a little bit crazy.

As far as she knows, the Sephiroth from five years ago couldn’t just phase through solid flooring.

But other than that, he’s exactly as she remembers him to be five years ago, the last time she had seen him before being sent away to Nibelheim, dressed all in black with his trademark pauldrons, long silver hair shining in the bright white lighting of the office, much of his chest exposed. 

He still looks cold and standoffish, but something seems to have twisted his features in some minute way, a way that she can’t put her finger on. 

And at his left hip, a sword that’s longer than her, that’s longer than _him_. A sword she had watched at work several times in the past, when she would visit the SOLDIER floor of Headquarters to watch Angeal train with his friends. 

Sephiroth had smiled at her all those years ago, had spoken politely to her, had answered her stupid questions with a patience she hadn’t expected, had _teased_ her about Angeal . . . 

Whatever he had been before, he is no longer, raising his sword so the tip touches President Shinra’s back threateningly. Her father stiffens, sweating profusely, eyes darting left and right sickeningly fast. He has the look of a man who knows there is no escape, trying to come to terms quickly with his fate.

She bites down so hard on her knuckles that she draws blood, the metallic taste of it infected her mouth, keeping her from shouting out for her father. 

“You will _never_ —” Sephiroth brings his sword back, his face hardening, bright eyes narrowing—“have the Promised Land.”

And in one swift motion, Charlie watches the tip of Sephiroth’s sword enter through her father’s back with extraordinary ease, the blade slipping between his shoulder blades, pushing through her father’s chest cavity, the blade soaked in her father’s blood, until it’s pinning him to the desk. A surprised little noise escapes the president, half gasp and half scoff, pale blue eyes widening in shock.

President Shinra slumps forward and Charlie closes her eyes for a split second, just to regain her bearings, but when she opens her eyes again, Sephiroth is gone, his sword the only evidence that she hadn’t dreamed the entire thing.

She waits a few minutes (it feels like hours), afraid that if she moves too quickly, Sephiroth will return and cut her down just like her father. Once she deems it safe enough, and once Palmer begins to peek out from around the column he’s hiding behind, Charlie tumbles out of the wardrobe. 

Palmer screams, clapping a hand to his mouth. His face is deathly white, a sheen of sweat making his face sparkle in the light. Charlie ignores him completely, stumbling over to her father with the grace of a newborn chocobo. 

He’s slumped forward on his desk, a pool of blood spreading across the desktop and leaking from his chest onto his shoes. With the length of the sword thrust through him, Charlie isn’t even able to reach the handle in order to pull it out of him.

“Daddy?” she croaks. Charlie reaches out to touch him, hesitating at the last moment, fingertips lingering inches from the blotchy skin of his face. His eyes are still open, his lips slightly parted, blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth. “Daddy?”

Palmer makes his way over, standing over her shoulder and looking down at the president. “Oh, Gods . . .” he breathes, more panicked than Charlie is. “Oh, Gods, what are we going to do? Shinra’s president . . . _dead!_ ”

“What happened to Sephiroth?” Charlie asks, cursing herself for having looked away. “Where did he go?”

“How am I supposed to know?” he shrieks, eyes bulging from his sockets, unable to look away from President Shinra. “I wasn’t going to look at him any longer than I had to!”

Charlie touches her father’s arm, ignoring the hot breath on the back of her neck as Palmer hyperventilates behind her. “Papa,” she whispers again, her heart beginning to stutter. He’s not moving, not even looking at her. No rasping breath is drawn, no last minute jerks or twitches. “Papa, wake up . . . please, wake up . . .”

She shakes him again, harder, smearing the blood around atop his desk, ruining his expensive, pinstriped suit. Still, nothing.

“Papa!” she cries in his ear, sighing and resting her forehead lightly against his shoulder. “Papa . . . please, wake up . . . please . . .” 

Desperate, Charlie gropes for the phone again, nearly pulling the entire thing down onto the floor as she does so, placing it between her ear and shoulder and dialing Rufus again. He answers almost immediately.

“ _Hold on, Charlie, I’m almost there_ —”

At the sound of Rufus’s voice, a sob escapes from between Charlie’s lips. Her eyes burn, and her chest feels tight. The last time she had felt like this was . . . 

“He’s gone, Rufus, he’s dead—”

“ _What? What are you going on about? I can’t understand you when you’re crying, Charlie._ ”

“Daddy—he’s dead, he’s dead—Sephiroth killed him—”

There’s a long pause. “ _Father’s dead?_ ”

Charlie touches her father’s arm again, gripping it gently. “Please, hurry—”

“ _I’ll be there in a few minutes. Wait for me by the helipad._ ” And with that, he hangs up. 

Charlie stares down at the phone in her hand, emitting that awful dial tone. She tosses it aside, uncaring whether or not it makes it back on the receiver. All she cares about now is the fact that her father has Sephiroth’s sword stuck in his back, and he’s not moving, lying in a puddle of his own blood, the most vulnerable he’s ever been in front of her daughter. 

“Oh, oh, oh, what are we going to do?” Palmer continues to squeal, dancing back and forth on his feet, drowning in his oversized suit that still manages to seem tight around his stomach, the buttons threatening to pop at any moment. “I never wanted this! I never asked for this! I never even wanted to work for Shinra, and then he gave me the Space Exploration Department! Oh, Char, we’re in for it now—”

“ _We?_ ” Charlie snaps, the rage boiling inside of her. Her neck nearly snaps with how quickly she whirls around to face Palmer, the gray tufts of his hair soaked with sweat. “Don’t pretend like we’re in this together, you cretin. If you didn’t want the job so badly, why didn’t you let me have my department back? Why didn’t you just quit? Not like you’re good for anything, anyway—”

“I’ll have you know that the Space Exploration Department has been _thriving_ under me—”

“You’ve ruined my department, you moron!” Charlie shouts at him, feeling her face go red while Palmer pales. “You have _no_ funding because my father knew what a pathetic, incompetent, little man you are! And I _know_ you were trying to scrap my rocket—”

“What does it matter if the rocket continues to stand? It’s not going to space in the near or far future, anyway! We need the scrap metal—”

“That’s _my_ rocket! You had no right!”

“It’s just junk now—”

Charlie lunges at him, knocking Palmer onto his back and pinning him to the ground underneath her knees. His arms and legs writhe madly in the air, making him look like some overgrown turtle, and she wraps his tie around her hand, pulling tight until he begins to gasp and beg for breath, his face quickly turning purple under the strain. 

“This’ll teach you to put your grubby little hands all over my things,” she hisses down at him, wishing she could toss him off the side of the building, giving his life to have her father back.

Palmer reaches up, smothering her face with a clammy palm, trying to poke her in the eyes. Charlie cries out, rolling off him to push him over and grab his arm, twisting it painfully behind his back until he begs for mercy, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. 

“Gods, why are you so _strong!_ ” he cries, wriggling against the ground, kicking his legs like a baby. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! Let go!”

She glances at her father again, suddenly softening. Releasing Palmer’s arm, she crawls away from him, breathing hard. “You’re not even worth it,” she murmurs, pushing herself to her feet and brushing herself off. 

Charlie takes one last look at her father before making for the doorway, tucked between two tall windows. It’s cold outside, doubly so with the winter wind blowing at seventy stories above the plate, but she makes for the helipad, hoping that Rufus will come quickly. 

Thankfully, she has only to wait no longer than two minutes. A Shinra helicopter rushes to the helipad, landing smoothly. The wind off the propellor makes her eyes water (or maybe she’s still crying tears for her father), and when Rufus jumps down from inside, Dark Nation follows him, circling them both protectively. 

“Charlie!” He touches her shoulders gently, peering past her in an attempt to see through the tinted windows and into the president’s office. After a moment, his eyes fix upon her face again before he pulls her into his chest. “Are you all right?”

She closes her eyes, able to feel Rufus’s heart beating against her cheek. “I think so. I was hiding in the wardrobe.” Charlie tilts her head back, arms wrapped tight around her brother’s waist, afraid to let go. “Reeve’s still in there, I think. You’ll make sure he’s all right, won’t you? You’ll make sure he’s safe?”

Rufus pauses, a muscle jumping in his jaw, but he smiles softly after a moment and nods, kissing her hair and swiping a thumb across her cheek in order to dry her tears. “Get in the helicopter, Charlie. Wait for me. I’ll come see you in a few minutes.”

“Well, well, well . . . ain’t this sweet?”

Charlie releases him, looking over her shoulder at the sound of a gruff voice and rushed footsteps, afraid that it’s Sephiroth, coming back to finish the job. It’s not Sephiroth, however, but a small group of people, all of them recognizable, save for one, a creature smaller than Dark Nation, covered in red fur. 

The man who speaks is one she had seen on the television the other night, when Avalanche had bombed mako reactor five, a heavy gun attached to his right arm and pointing right at them. 

She casts a worried look at Rufus again.

“Don’t worry,” he promises her, stepping between his sister and Avalanche, “I’ll be fine.”

Charlie takes his word for it, turning her back on the terrorists to run towards the helicopter, where Tseng is already extending a hand for her. She takes it eagerly, allowing him to pull her into the helicopter and she falls into his chest, thankful for the arm that encircles her protectively, the two of them crouched upon the floor of the helicopter.

“I saw him,” she murmurs against the lapel of his suit jacket. “I saw Sephiroth. He killed him—he killed my father.”

A hand comes to cradle the back of her head, but it only makes her cry. “Rude, let’s go,” he says over the noise of the helicopter. 

“Where’s Reeve?” she asks suddenly, looking up into Tseng’s face with tear-filled eyes. 

“The director is safe, don’t worry.” Tseng looks down at her for a long time, not quite sentimental enough to help wipe her tears away. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

She only blinks up at him.

“You’re the vice president now, Charlotte.”

It takes her a moment to fully digest this. The sudden death of her father right before her very eyes had all happened so quickly, and she hasn’t even had time to really think about it. All she can think about is the appearance of Sephiroth, returning to Headquarters for the first time in years, supposed to be dead.

Now that she thinks about it, she would never have expected Rufus _or_ Tseng to show any remorse for President Shinra’s death. 

“I’m . . .” she rasps, hardly able to believe it. “. . . the vice president.”

“So let’s see you look like one,” Tseng says, moving her away from his chest. He places a finger to her chin, lifting her face. 

Charlie swallows loudly, keeping her chin up even as Tseng pulls his finger away. “I’m the vice president,” she repeats, watching him nod slightly in return. “ _I’m_ the vice president.” 

She kneels before him, stiffening, holding her shoulders back and tucking her hair behind her ears, stifling all feelings of guilt and sadness while under such critical inspection. She purses her lips and inhales deeply to steady her breathing, fixing Tseng with her own critical stare. 

He smiles. “Perfect, Madam Vice President,” he says, almost teasingly. It makes her feel a little better. “Now you look just like your brother.”

* * *

Reeve trails slightly behind Heidegger and Scarlet. 

He holds his hands out in front of him, extending his fingers to find that they’re shaking. Curling them into fists, he tries not to dwell on the outrageous story his assistant had told him, something about a silver-haired man stalking the halls of Headquarters, making for the top floor while leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

He had seen the trail of blood for himself while making for the conference rooms. 

Charlotte was up there. Charlotte was supposed to be in her father’s office, and if the rumors are true, and Sephiroth _had_ come back from the dead to exact revenge upon Shinra . . . he can only hope that her friendship with the former SOLDIER’s friend had saved her. Perhaps he had shown her mercy, had recognized her as a friend, had shown some kind of sympathy for her. 

Or perhaps he had seen fit to finish off whatever Shinras he could while he was up there. 

Rude is standing guard outside the largest conference room on the sixty-sixth floor, President Shinra’s preferred meeting room. He had always loved to talk about how expensive the table had been, custom-made and imported in pieces. The chairs had arrived weeks late, but President Shinra always said the same thing when telling the story—“but what can you do about that?”

Not really knowing if he’s going to walk out of the room alive, Reeve is greeted by a surprising scene upon crossing the threshold.

At the far end of the room, seated side by side at the head of the table in tall-backed chairs, are Charlie and Rufus, the both of them almost regal. Rufus’s shotgun sits menacingly in front of them on the table, and Tseng stands tall at his right side, just over his shoulder. The mutated mutt they call Dark Nation watches everyone enter warily from the corner of the conference room.

_A king and his queen._

Arrogance permeates off Rufus, a certain vindictive pleasure in his small smile for reasons currently unknown. Hasn’t anyone informed him about what’s going on? Why aren’t they evacuating the entire building? What’s going on? Isn’t he frightened that Sephiroth will return?

Reeve sits down in the chair closest to Charlie. Scarlet fills the seat on his left, and Heidegger sits across from them, sliding into a chair next to the already-present Palmer, who looks sweatier than usual, and his neck is bright red around his collar. Hojo is conspicuously absent, and Rude is already closing the door, keeping out any unwanted intruders. 

_So Hojo won’t be joining us._

Upon closer inspection, Charlie does not look at all eager to be here. Her eyes are red-rimmed as if she’s been crying, but she holds herself well, looking very much her brother’s counterpart, and Reeve’s first thought is that Rufus has done something to her, that something might happen to _him_ —

She smiles at him, and although it’s a small and weak smile, it helps clear his mind. He almost tries to reach for her hand beneath the table, but she turns away from him too soon, waiting for Rufus to speak. 

Rufus clears his throat, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table. There’s a bit of blood on his white suit, or what _looks_ like blood. Red flags go off in Reeve’s head, but what comes out of the vice president’s mouth is the very last thing he expects. 

“Our father, the president of the Shinra Electric Power Company, is dead.” The words are spoken so plainly, so coldly, like his father’s death was only a minor inconvenience to him. “Charlotte and Palmer have both given their version of events, and the both of them agree that it was Sephiroth who murdered our father.”

It takes a minute for these words to sink in. _So it’s true . . . but how?_ As far as Reeve can recall, Sephiroth had died in Nibelheim five years ago under mysterious circumstances. The official report stated it was a freak accident, but he can’t imagine what sort of “freak accident” could cause the downfall of the great Shinra war hero.

“As sudden as these events were, we must continue to look to the future.” Rufus’s eyes scan the faces of his intimate audience, lingering on Reeve. The only person here who seems pleased with this information is Scarlet, but she’s at least tactful enough to be subtle about it. “I will pick up what my father has, regrettably, left behind in his wake. I will shoulder the heavy responsibility of the presidency, and with Charlotte as my vice president, Shinra Incorporated will continue to thrive, more successful than ever.”

When he pauses, there’s a heavy silence sitting over them all. Rufus gets slowly to his feet, looking down at everyone. Charlie refuses to meet Reeve’s eyes. 

“But don’t mistake me,” he continues, sounding more like the Rufus that Reeve is more familiar with. His tone becomes sharper and more bitter, scowling at his employees. “I am not my father. Changes will be made in the coming months, changes that should have been made a long time ago.” 

He picks the shotgun up off the table, cocking it loudly. 

“Before I send you all away for the night to reflect on your futures within my company, however, there is one little thing I would like to talk to you all about.” He points the shotgun carelessly at Reeve. “Brother, I think you’ll like this.”

Reeve looks helplessly at Charlie, wanting to take her into his arms. Heidegger fixes him with a scowl. 

“I have a very low tolerance for disrespect,” Rufus says casually, spinning his gun around on his index finger and pacing back and forth. “Any disrespect towards me, I will not tolerate in the slightest. Any disrespect towards my _sister_ . . .” He stops very suddenly, standing just behind Palmer, who shakes and quivers and closes his eyes. “Palmer, please forgive me if I’m not remembering correctly, but during our last meeting, I believe you had some choice words about my beautiful sister.”

Rufus gestures to Charlie, who looks at her brother with a burning intensity, as if trying to silently discourage him from doing something stupid. Palmer blanches, blinking back tears as he stammers and stutters foolishly, the end of Rufus’s gun prodding him in the back of the head. 

“Remind me what it was that you said,” Rufus urges him.

Reeve remembers. When questioned by Rufus about his capability as Director of the Space Exploration Department, Palmer had replied, “Well, seeing as I have delivered on all of my promises—(unlike _some_ people)—I can at least say I’m doing a better job than Char did.” 

It had made Reeve suck in a deep breath between teeth, and he had shared the anger that Rufus had a hard time concealing.

Palmer recalls these words, as well, although they’re spoken tremulously this time, not at all the confident boast it had been before.

Rufus laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Palmer, let me ask you a question. Do you prefer your foot or your hand?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

“Too late. That’s not an answer to my question.”

Before Reeve can determine what’s happening, it happens. 

Rufus’s shotgun goes off, emitting a puff of smoke and leaving all of his employees’ ears ringing. At first, Palmer seems completely fine, but then he screams, falling off his chair. Heidegger pushes away as if Palmer carries something contagious, and both Reeve and Scarlet get to their feet to see what’s going on.

Rufus has shot Palmer’s foot, his shoe now with a large hole in it, leaking blood onto the carpeting. The man’s eyes are bulging from his sockets, and his face is slightly tinged green. 

Reeve feels sick to his stomach, even more so when he glances at Charlie again and sees that she has only now just averted her eyes, her face a cold and stony mask.

As Palmer continues to whine and cry on the floor, holding his bleeding foot, Reeve slowly regains his seat, biting his tongue as Rufus continues, throwing his gun back on the table. 

“Reeve,” Rufus says flatly. “Why don’t you bring my sweet sister home? She’s had a long night, and is surely in need of rest.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Let this be a warning to you all,” her brother announces, standing back up and gesturing flippantly towards Palmer, who still writhes, pale and sweaty, on the floor. “Especially to you, _brother_. Good-night.”


	24. Chapter 24

The first night is the hardest.

Charlotte cries herself hoarse that night, torn between grieving the untimely and almost brutal murder of her father, and being relieved in regards to the death of someone who had just murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent people without blinking an eye. 

Reeve doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Pia had been caught up in the violence, massacred in her cell, abdomen cut to ribbons. It had been a very unpleasant and traumatic sight, but her face had still been intact, and he had been able to identify her quickly to the doctor before taking his leave.

He feels guilty that he doesn’t mourn the death of his fiancée’s father, that he doesn’t really care that President Shinra is dead. He sheds no tears, can think of no positive or sentimental memories shared with the late president to dwell on, and can’t find it in his heart to be sad about it, no matter how much he tries for Charlie.

All he can think about is Sephiroth, and how close Charlie had come to being killed just like her father.

Neither of them sleep long that night. They doze off in turns on the sofa, Charlie curled up in his lap with her cheek against his clavicle, with Cat curled up at his thigh, purring loudly and napping with them. His neck and back will hurt something awful in the morning, but he doesn’t dare suggest they move, for fear that she’ll decide to grieve alone, pushing him away. 

He must watch the Sector Seven plate drop another sixty times as it continuously cycles on the newscast he watches quietly. Charlie never asks him to turn it off, but sometimes he wishes she would. It’s nearly unbearable to watch, to imagine the sheer number of human lives lost because of it, but he can’t stop watching, trying to imagine all the possible ways he could have stopped or prevented it.

With Charlie relatively indisposed the first few days, locking herself in her home office to cry or being locked in the president’s office with her brother, it falls to Reeve to handle business matters. An accountant helps him with the transition of her father’s inheritance (a number that makes him audibly gasp when presented with it, and makes him feel slightly inadequate).

“That can’t be right,” he protests, pointing at the long string of numbers on the paper. 

The accountant falters, stammering for a moment and pushing his glasses up. “I . . . I don’t know what to say, sir,” he says apologetically. “That is the correct number, yes.”

Reeve sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before picking up a pen. “Okay.”

Another day, Charlie informs him that Rufus is going to pick him up and take him to the family manor, where they will sort through President Shinra’s old possessions before the house is sold. It sounds very suspect, and Reeve is certain that it’s a trap, but Charlie convinces him in the end. 

The entire day spent in President Shinra’s former mansion is not entirely a waste, however. 

Rufus tells him to take whatever he wants home for Charlie and himself, and immediately leaves Reeve to wander around a cavernous home that he’s never even set foot in before. 

Everything is so empty and cold and marble and _white_ , hardly looking lived-in, with natural light pouring in from dozens of windows set against each wall. He can understand why Charlie has never been keen on returning, or why she was never really happy to be alone in such a massive space. 

Even with their small family here or even with just a single Turk, Charlie could easily go days without running into them.

Even her bedroom lacks any of her colorful personality, not a single personal effect in sight, not even any posters or star charts pinned to the walls like in the villa at Costa del Sol. It’s triple the size of their bedroom at home, complete with a fireplace, and Reeve finds the sheer size of it slightly overwhelming with so little furniture. The drawers and closet were cleaned out years ago, he knows, but he checks, just in case. 

He finds the box under her bed, not really hidden, but tucked neatly away from open view. It’s a beautiful, dark, mahogany box, with her initials engraved in gold upon the top: _CES_.

He feels slightly guilty (a feeling that he’s becoming very accustomed to lately), a little apprehensive, delving into Charlie’s personal things from a life before him. Reeve isn’t quite sure what he might find inside, half-expecting to find a few pieces of jewelry that she had left behind or a diary from her childhood. 

The key is easy enough to find, the only thing still stashed within the nightstand drawer. It unlocks smoothly, the inside covered in crimson velvet, full of folded up pieces of paper and a few photographs. 

What surprises him first is the picture on top, a picture from years ago, a picture with _him_ in it. She can’t be older than seventeen in it, his own young face cleanly shaven. They’re both dressed nicely, she in a modest, gold evening gown, and he’s wearing a fine tuxedo, a black bow-tie tight around his neck, surrounded by others at a table, including Rufus and their father. 

It must have been taken at some corporate party, for some holiday or other. While he himself is offering the camera a tired smile (the only one looking at the camera), Charlie is beaming up at _him_ , much like the open way she does now. 

Reeve knows he shouldn’t continue to look, as these things are likely very personal, but curiosity gets the better of him. He unfolds one of the papers she has stored inside, and another picture falls out of it, a picture of the SOLDIER she had once been fond of. It looks like he had taken it himself, arms held out in front of him as if to hold the camera.

_Charlie,_

_Enclosed is something I hope will make you feel better after our last conversation. If it’s any consolation, I miss you a little bit, too._

_Call me when you get this._

_Angeal_

Reeve feels his chest tighten, and his stomach churns violently. Charlie hadn’t told him that she and Angeal had been writing letters to each other, let alone calling each other while he was away on missions, or sending each other pictures. And he had called her _Charlie._ Hardly anyone in the Shinra Building calls her _Charlie_ , a nickname reserved for her friends.

As far as he knew, the two of them hadn’t even gone on a proper date. 

It’s the only letter from Angeal, thankfully. There are a few additional pictures of scenery and picturesque-looking villages that were probably sent with other letters now lost, but none of them come with any form of context for Reeve. 

One of the other letters is something that makes him almost forget about the SOLDIER completely, upon seeing handwriting that's vaguely familiar to him. It makes his heart leap into his throat. 

_My dearest Charlotte,_

_How is Costa del Sol? I’m sorry I was unable to make it this time, but I promise I’ll be there next time, and we can go to the beach whenever you want, even at night._

_Keep up with your studies. Your mother says you’re doing well. If you keep working hard, I might even be able to find a reward for you._

_Veld_

Reeve’s heart aches, and he feels far more close to tears than he has in the past few days, and that feeling is only intensified when he opens another letter, clearly more recent than the last.

_My dearest Charlotte,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know we have not spoken in close to a year now, but I know that you have been busy, as Tseng takes care to report back to me as often as he can. I’m so pleased to hear that you’ve been getting along with him._

_My job has kept me busy, as well, and I no longer have the time to play games with you or read you stories like I once did. You are a young woman now, no longer in need of an old babysitter like me, but in need of a friend._

_I fear a day may come soon that I will be pulled away from my work, and that I may not see you again for a very long time, but Tseng has given me his word that he will look after you. Trust him. I would not ask just anyone to care for you._

_You cannot know how much joy you have brought me over the years. It has been a great honor watching you grow into an intelligent and confident young woman, and I wish you great success in your future endeavors, whatever they may be._

_When we meet again, I hope that the world has been kind to us both. Until then, take care of yourself, and remember who you are, little princess._

_With love,_

_Veld_

Reeve has to fold the letter back up instantly after reading it, his cheeks burning. It’s too much, too intimate, he can’t look at it, he’s invaded her privacy _and_ Veld’s, and neither of them would be happy about it. 

He wasn’t supposed to read this, this tender last exchange between a man known for his severity and firm authority and the neglected daughter of the late President Shinra. 

_There’s so much she doesn’t know,_ he thinks, feeling horrible, _but how am I supposed to tell her?_

There’s one picture of her and Veld, old and tinted and slightly torn at one corner like it’s been handled many times. Charlotte looks no older than eight, sitting on a bench on the beach with an ice cream cone, smiling from ear to ear with her face sunburnt and freckled and her hair a tangled nest from the ocean water, and Veld sitting stoic and rugged beside her. 

The closest thing to a real father she’s possibly ever had. 

Charlie rarely speaks about him now, preferring to act sometimes as if he never existed, forcing herself to forget him in her anger and bitterness. She had been genuinely hurt when Veld left, never having been given a proper explanation. That had been at the request of Rufus, and Reeve doesn’t dare go against her brother’s wishes now—the _president_ ’s wishes. 

“Bit old to be snooping around in my sister’s things, don’t you think?”

Reeve jumps, looking up to find Rufus standing at the threshold of Charlie’s bedroom. There’s not a trace of humor in his voice, nor is there a wicked smile on his face. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. Reeve isn’t really sure how long he’s been standing there.

“I was only curious,” he says, feeling like it’s a rather inadequate answer. “My apologies.”

Rufus swaggers over to him, plucking a photograph at random from the box, one of Charlie and Tseng seated on the deck of the beach house. The picture itself makes Reeve feel as if opening the box had been a horrible mistake. 

Charlie must be eighteen or nineteen in the picture, and the only reason he can tell is because she’s wearing the necklace he’d bought her for her eighteenth birthday, clad in a tiny swimsuit that leaves little to the imagination, and sprawled upon the fully-clothed lap of Tseng. 

The back of her head is resting comfortably upon his shoulder, one arm reaching up to keep his face close to hers, her hand resting on the nape of his neck, neither of them smiling, but looking down at a book in one of Tseng’s hands. Tseng’s other hand is placed upon her waist, holding her in place, their legs stretched out together on the elongated chair. 

If Reeve is angry, Rufus is _furious_. His face hardens and his pale eyes flash mutinously. 

“They’ve always been close, no matter how much Charlie is loath to admit it,” he says bitterly, and Reeve keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to ruin the moment. It’s not often that Rufus is so open with him. “There weren’t other children to play with when we were young, and Tseng was nearly of an age with her when he was first introduced to us. More so than the others who frequented the villa, anyway.”

There’s another long silence. Reeve understands. Charlie’s relationship with the Turks is complicated, despite her insistence that she hates them all and couldn’t care less about them. He thinks it has more to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to accept them as family after being neglected by her true family.

“Since then, he’s killed for her, several times, did you know? There’s blood on your fiancée’s hands, even if she doesn’t know it.” Rufus pauses for a moment. “I always thought they might marry, but I should have known Tseng was already married to the job.”

Reeve doesn’t miss the way Rufus’s eyes fix upon him after this confession, as if hoping to get a rise out of him. The thought makes his stomach roil with jealousy again, but Reeve knows better than to talk back, or at all. 

Rufus sighs heavily, throwing the picture back into the box so it stares up at Reeve, mocking him. He has to look away. 

He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about Charlie and her SOLDIER, Charlie and her pilot . . . Charlie and her _Turk_. He doesn’t want to think about how much Charlie has kept from him.

Had he _ever_ been her first choice? Charlie loves him now, and Reeve has never doubted it, but to see her spread out across Tseng’s lap so comfortably, like she had done it _before_ , has made him second guess things. She’s always been one to bask in attention whenever it’s given to her, always eager for someone to praise and compliment her, always happy to have someone flirt with her. 

Not that Reeve has given her much insight into his own previous romantic encounters—not that they had mattered much, anyway. There had been the girl from the slums, but that had been strictly physical, as there had been _many_ frustrations he needed to relieve, most of them in regards to Charlie, and he had had women before meeting Charlie at all. Besides that, after starting his job at Shinra Inc., he had found himself far too busy to apply his efforts to _dating_. 

“I want you to begin reconstruction of the Sector Seven plate immediately. Charlie has sent emergency services to the ruins, to check for any survivors, but neither of us are holding out hope. It’s been days now, and we need to begin clearing the wreckage.”

“I don’t have the employees to work as quickly as I could before,” Reeve confesses. Many of them had died when the employee housing district had collapsed with the plate.

Rufus doesn’t seem fazed by this. “You have plans drawn up, I’m sure?”

“Yes, of course. I can show you the moment we return to Headquarters.”

“No need,” Rufus replies with a shrug. When Reeve seems doubtful, he continues, almost pleasantly. “You are many things, Director, but incompetent is certainly not one of them. Are you capable of handling this project on your own?”

“But, sir,” Reeve protests weakly, “I’m not sure we have the budget for—”

“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll make sure your department has what you need. Charlie will allocate funds where she sees fit. Prepare a few plans and I’ll look at them when I can.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Rufus raises his eyebrows, as if this ‘thanks’ was unnecessary. “I still don’t like the fact that you’re sleeping with my sister.”

“We’re not just sleeping together,” Reeve says before he can stop himself, “we’re engaged.”

The president scowls. “Which makes it even worse.”

When Reeve presents the box to Charlie at home, she immediately pales at the sight of it and refuses to look inside, instead putting it on a shelf in her office to collect dust.

It’s only when they’re lying in bed that night does Reeve find the courage to ask her, “Had you ever slept with anyone before me?” The question makes him blush, sounding petty and childish coming from his own mouth. 

“No,” she answers sweetly, offering him a reassuring smile through the dark. “I told you that. I had only been kissed _once_ before I kissed you.” 

“Who was it?” he asks quickly. “Was it Tseng?”

“ _Tseng?_ ” she laughs. “No, of course not. Where would you get that idea?” 

When he only shrugs, Charlie seems to understand, her smile softening to something a little more sympathetic.

“You looked in the box, didn’t you?”

“I . . .” Reeve gives her an apologetic look, feeling very small before her. “I may have looked, yes, but I . . .” He shifts uncomfortably. Why had he opened that box in the first place? “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’ve never kissed Tseng, and I can promise you that.”

This doesn’t make him feel any better, but he wants to know, _has_ to know. He isn’t certain who he _wants_ the answer to be, but he hopes it isn’t the pilot. He might die if she tells him it was the pilot. “Who was it, Charlie?”

“Come on,” she scoffs. “You don’t want to know about that, do you?”

“Just tell me, Charlotte.”

For a brief moment, Reeve thinks he can discern panic in her eyes, in her face. She’s frightened of something. Frightened of telling him the truth? 

“Fine, it was Angeal. Are you happy now?” she snaps, rolling over to put her back to him. 

_No,_ he wants to say, _not at all._

He wishes he’d never asked, but at least it wasn’t the pilot. 

The funeral comes a few days after the president’s death, an intimate thing with no more than thirty people in attendance, broadcasted to the ends of the world for everyone to view from the comfort of their homes. 

Charlotte sits at the very front of the rows of chairs, as befits her new position, with her brother on her right and Tseng on her left, clutching to her brother’s hand in plain view of everyone behind them. Every so often she leans into the Turk and whispers something, and Reeve has to watch Tseng put his mouth right next to Charlie’s ear to answer quickly, far too close for his liking, the two of them bantering throughout almost the entire service. 

To her credit, she doesn’t shed any tears, but Reeve knows that’s because she shed them all the night she watched her father die. 

No doubt it was Rufus’s decision to place his sister’s future husband among those he deems “lesser”. It’s no secret that Rufus lacks any respect for any of his executives, despite being forced to rely on their advice from time to time about things the former president hadn’t quite gotten around to telling him. 

Only earlier today, Rufus had been forced into that exact position, confronting Reeve in his office about those plans to reconstruct Sector Seven, if he had any to present at all. As thrilled as Reeve had been about a president that might care enough about the people of Midgar to follow up on his promises, Rufus had quickly shot down the idea of them becoming some sort of “team” before the idea had even been suggested. 

“I am not interested, nor have I ever been interested, in being your friend, Director,” Rufus had told him, sounding almost bored. “But at my lovely sister’s insistence, I’ve decided to . . . extend a temporary olive branch.”

“Oh?” was all he could think to say, remembering the cavalier way Rufus had shot Palmer. 

“I’ve had the bug removed from your phone,” Rufus had confessed, completely nonchalant. Reeve had been forced to stifle his genuine surprise and irritation. “You have a filthy mouth on you, Director. I can’t believe my innocent sister allows you to speak to her like that.” He had smiled, then. “I suppose my sister has always liked that, though. Men a little . . . rough around the edges.”

It had been enough to make him blush, which had pleased Rufus immensely. 

Scarlet sighs from his left, fanning herself as the eulogy goes on and on. “They’re going to run this company _and_ the city into the ground,” she murmurs, her eyes fixed dangerously on the back of Charlie’s head. “Shinra and Midgar are as good as dead.”

“I’m sorry?” Reeve asks, hardly able to believe what he’s hearing. 

She laughs softly, a false laugh, and mocking. “They’re only _children_ ,” she elaborates, rolling her eyes. He can’t say it isn’t half-true; Rufus is nearly ten years his junior, younger even than Charlie, though not by much. “Petulant, spoiled children, half in love with each other. Shall we make a bet on whose department will be shut down first, Reeve?”

“Might be Hojo’s department first,” comes Heidegger’s hushed and gruff voice from Reeve’s other side. “It seems that he’s resigned. Afraid of coming face to face with Sephiroth, I’m sure. Without Hojo, the department is finished.”

“Hojo’s resigned?” Reeve asks quickly. This is news to him, as he usually takes great pains to avoid the professor whenever he can. 

“He left the night of the president’s death,” Scarlet supplies, looking happy to have some news that Reeve doesn’t. “And no one’s seen him since. His lackeys say that it had something to do with the loss of a very important specimen.” 

“What specimen?”

“The only specimen Hojo has cared about since the beginning of his days with Shinra,” Scarlet scoffs, indicating how she, and the rest of them, feel about Hojo. “ _Jenova_. She must have found a way to free herself from the inside. I don’t blame her for wanting out of that place.” Looking past him at Heidegger, she scowls. “At least _your_ department will be safe, you great oaf. The president is far too fond of those Turks. They’re nothing but a menace to society. Looks like Tseng might take your job, though, Heidegger.”

Heidegger only grunts, turning red beneath his beard. 

“Looks like Tseng might take your woman, too, Reeve,” she whispers, leaning close to point out the way the Turk’s mouth moves to her ear again, speaking for a few seconds before Charlie turns to look at him with a small smile. “Now that daddy dearest is dead, there’s really no reason for her to marry you, is there?”

Reeve won’t deny the jab is painful, tugging at his heart, at his deepest insecurities. He can’t deny that there is some queer form of love that Charlie and Tseng feel for each other, almost unavoidable after spending so much of their lives together, but he can’t really believe that Charlie would leave him now for a _Turk_ , nor would Tseng overstep in regards to his boss’s sister.

He remembers how angry Rufus had looked upon seeing the picture of Charlie in Tseng’s lap, wondering who had taken the picture to begin with. 

Scarlet may believe Charlie’s love for Reeve is all fabricated for the sake of pleasing her father, but Scarlet hasn’t heard Charlie whisper heart wrenching confessions in the dark after making love to each other, hasn’t seen the way she smiles at him in private, hasn’t seen Charlie kiss him all over the face when he comes home from work after a long day, eager to fall into her with her arms wrapped around him. 

Charlie falls asleep on the way home, her head resting against Reeve’s shoulder in the back of a private car. He looks down at her, wondering if Scarlet’s words held any real weight, but at the sight of her looking so sweet and innocent, there’s no doubt in his mind that what Charlie feels for him is real.

A few days after the funeral, Rufus holds an exclusive, intimate, corporate gala in the lounge of Shinra Headquarters, not to celebrate his recent inauguration, but to meet with everyone who worked closely alongside Shinra and the late president, in the hopes of redefining his father’s legacy and keeping necessary allies in his pocket. 

Charlotte looks beautiful, of course. She’s always been beautiful, but seeing her dressed for a black-tie affair is always something that brings him great pleasure. 

Her light blonde hair is slicked back and tucked behind her ears, tumbling down the exposed skin of her back. The diamond earrings that hang heavy on her ears sparkle upon catching the light just right, and she dons a matching necklace (a necklace he had bought her for her twenty-first birthday) and bracelet (a bracelet he bought her simply because he had seen it in a shop window and thought she might like it), and, of course, her engagement ring.

Reeve can’t help it when his chest swells with pride at the very sight of her wearing it, even now, after the death of her father. 

He can’t believe that the sight of her like this still makes his heart race and his palms all sweaty. She could very well be the princess that everyone seems to believe she is, wearing an expensive black velvet dress with a plunging neckline and a sweep train, with golden embroidery around her waist and at the hem, showing off enough skin to keep lechers glancing her way all night. 

Reeve tugs uncomfortably at the bow-tie around his neck, nursing a glass of champagne. All night, Charlie’s been pulled away from him. Every time he attempts to make a grab for her hand, or tries to ask her to dance, someone more important requires her attention.

Instead of being _his_ date for the night, she’s Rufus’s, and it infuriates him. 

To be fair, Charlie had warned him beforehand that she was likely going to be distracted for the majority of the night, smoothing over any issues Shinra’s investors may have, charming them and laughing at their jokes, projecting an image of solidarity between her and the now-president of the company. 

After all, these people all think that Charlie had a hand in the bombings, that she was giving orders to Avalanche.

Rufus always seems to have a hand splayed against the small of her back, an arm around her waist, a hand upon the nape of her neck, always eager to show his sister off to whoever they speak to. Whenever they walk together, he holds her hand or offers her his arm, but several times, Reeve witnesses things that make him slightly nervous. 

Once, while Charlie stands in a shadowy corner to escape her brother for a moment and get a drink, Rufus confronts her, gripping her thin wrist tight and snarling something into her face. 

And another time, while Rufus and Charlie are dancing together, her face hardens at something spoken that Reeve hadn’t heard, and when she tries to turn her face away, Rufus’s fingers catch her chin, forcing her to look at him for a few seconds before releasing her. 

Reeve forces himself to remain calm. There’s nothing he can do, and the helplessness gnaws at his insides. 

Seeing Rufus so blatantly mistreat her makes his breath hitch, wanting to walk right up to Rufus and punch him square in the face, something that has always been (since her brother had walked in on them the morning after they’d slept together) a vindictive and vengeful fantasy of his. 

It’s late into the party when Charlotte finally approaches him, not half as drunk as he is. 

“Hey, stranger,” she murmurs, taking hold of his hands and lacing their fingers together. “Want to get out of here for a little?”

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes_. His eyes scan the crowd of party-goers, looking for Rufus. “Won’t you be . . . missed?”

This makes her smile. “Why don’t we go to my office?”

Her new office is located on the sixty-ninth floor, bigger than his own and with fewer windows, but still as luxurious and gaudy as the president’s office. She’s still in the process of moving all of her things, so a few open boxes are stacked against the wall behind her desk, and the walls are still bare and empty, lacking any kind of pictures or awards.

Charlie drags him inside by the hand, locking the door behind them. She takes the half-empty glass of champagne out of his hand, placing it on a coffee table. “You’ve been drinking a lot tonight,” she notes, but she isn’t at all scolding him. “I’ve been watching you, you know.”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate lately,” Reeve tells her, wishing the words didn’t sound so bitter. 

“I know,” she replies, sounding sad. She walks right up to him, adjusting the bow-tie around his neck. “You’ve been so patient and kind to me these past few days. I think you deserve a reward, if you’re interested.”

“What are you offering?” It takes all of his strength to keep from tearing her dress off. 

“Anything you want,” she smiles. “Anything at all. Ask me, and it’s yours.”

It’s a difficult question, made harder by the amount of alcohol he’s consumed in the past few hours. There are _lots_ of things he wants—he wants Rufus and Tseng out of her life, he wants to go home with her right now and get out of this ridiculous outfit, he wants her to be open with her about these past few days. 

What are you supposed to ask for when everything is within reach? Charlie could give him the world if he asked for it, but the only things he wants right now are things he can’t have. 

Reeve rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “I don’t expect a reward,” he confesses. “I did it because I love you.”

Charlie beams at him. “Why don’t I at least make an offer before you turn me down?” After receiving a hum in reply from him, she continues in a low voice, eyes sparkling playfully. “I’m not wearing anything under this dress. Want to see?”

“Yes,” he says stupidly, flushing as Charlie takes a few steps back towards her desk. 

“Come here,” she murmurs, sitting atop the desk now and spreading her legs, her movement still slightly restricted by the soft fabric of her dress. “Come look, Reeve.”

The sound of his name rolling off her tongue like that ignites a fire in him. He moves towards her almost clumsily, unable to reach her fast enough. As he begins to push her dress up her bare legs, his heart starts to beat a little faster, heat radiating from her core as his hands skate up her hard thighs. 

“Touch me,” she says, and he does, resting his forehead against her shoulder and breathing heavily against her skin, listening to the hitch of her breath and the soft sigh that escapes her. Charlie’s fingers rake through his hair, her lips pressing a light kiss to his temple. “For you, my love, all for you.”

The words escape Reeve before he can swallow them, only to never speak them again. It feels odd to be asking something like this with his fingers inside of her. “Do you still want to marry me?” 

“Of course I do,” Charlie whispers, tugging at his hair to lift his head from her shoulder, to look into his face. “ _Gods_ , yes, I still want to.”

He can’t help but feel doubtful after snooping through her box full of past loves and memories. “That’s nice to hear.”

“You _must_ be drunk,” she giggles, wriggling against him and placing another kiss to his cheek, “if you think I wouldn’t want to marry you.” 

Her fingers suddenly wrap around his wrist, halting his movements. His head feels foggy, his body working of its own accord. His pants feel impossibly and uncomfortably tight. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to stop?”

“Do you want to go home?” she asks, cheeks flushed. 

Reeve hesitates, curling the ends of the fingers inside her, just to see the way her face contorts for a moment, drawing another content sigh from her mouth. “Shouldn’t you be down there, with your brother?”

“I want to be with _you_.”

He slips his fingers from her to cradle her face with both hands, and presses his lips hard to her own, swallowing Charlie’s soft cry of protest. 

He could have anything in the world, and yet Reeve thinks he’s content right now, with a woman who wants to spend time with him, kissing him with a hunger that she’s likely never shared with another man. 

Finally, when he can’t prolong it for another minute, Reeve pulls away to drag her back down to the lobby of the Shinra Building, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. Charlie follows him, but not before adjusting her dress and fixing her hair, smiling at him all the while. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the party?” he asks one more time as they wait for an elevator. 

“I’m sure. They all hate me,” she tells him flatly. “They all think I was conspiring with Avalanche. They think I was involved with the plate collapse.”

Reeve purses his lips. “I’m sure Rufus will clear your name soon.”

“Even if he doesn’t,” she murmurs, the elevator ringing as the doors slide open, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“What? How could you say that?”

“It’s all right.” Charlie smiles nervously at him before stepping into the elevator. “It was my fault, anyway.”


	25. Chapter 25

“ _How’re you holdin’ up, princess?_ ”

“I don’t know, honestly. Everything happened so quickly, and I feel like I should be . . . more sad than I am.”

“ _Well, at the risk of soundin’ cold, your dad_ was _kind of a bastard._ ”

Charlie sighs, running a hand through her hair. He doesn’t mean to be harsh, she knows. If he really wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t care to be subtle about it. It’s just the way he is, and the way he’s always been since she first met him. “I know it, but he was still my father.”

“ _I’m sorry, Lottie. I’m glad you’re all right._ ”

She’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the sealed envelope on her desk. “I found a letter for me, from my father. I took it from a locked box in his desk drawer right before he died,” she tells him. “But I’m afraid to open it.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t know.” She picks it up and holds it to the light, hoping for a clue as to what might be inside. “I’m afraid it’s going to be something horrible.”

“ _But there’s a chance it won’t be. Gotta do somethin’ that scares you._ ”

“Maybe.” Charlie tosses the envelope aside, not wanting to look at it any longer. “Anyway, I’m really glad you called. Do you mind if I bounce an idea off you?”

“ _Are you back to work already?_ ” Cid laughs quietly, sounding surprised. “ _You’re a real professional, kid._ ”

“That’s _Madam Vice President_ to you,” she teases, leaning back in her chair to rest her feet upon her desk. “I want to restart the space program. Rufus has been promising me that for years now, ever since it was shut down.”

“ _Say no more—I’m sold. Think of the fuckin’ team we’d make_ —”

“I wouldn’t be part of the department. I’m the vice president now, and I have other responsibilities,” she interrupts, frowning at the thought. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be part of it, it’s that working with Cid again might rekindle old feelings she wants to avoid. “And I can’t recommend you as a replacement for Palmer. You understand, don’t you?”

Cid hesitates. The silence makes her nervous. “ _I ain’t a politician, you mean._ ”

She’s offended him, she knows, and she feels sorry about it, but it’s the honest truth. “The other directors, especially Reeve and my brother, would eat you alive, Cid,” she says, sure of it. “But if I can get the program restarted, you’ll help, won’t you? I trust you to . . . carry on my legacy.”

“ _Yeah, you can count on me,_ ” he answers sullenly. “ _Hey, I gotta go._ ”

“Okay,” Charlie says, disappointed by his abrupt change in attitude and the curt goodbye offered. It’s bold of him, she thinks, to be so forward and informal with Shinra’s new vice president. 

But it had been nice of him to call, to see how she was doing despite not giving a damn that her father was murdered. 

Truthfully, after crying herself to sleep last night, Charlie rather feels that it’s helped immensely. She’s left with a sudden feeling of relief that only makes her feel guilty, however, constantly split between that and a feeling of absolute horror for having witnessed something so gruesome and cold. 

She doesn’t want to talk about it. Reeve had asked once what happened in the president’s office, but Charlie couldn’t bring herself to repeat it. She had told Tseng in the helicopter after she had been pulled inside, and then repeated the story again to Tseng, Rude, and Rufus when they were preparing for their emergency board meeting. 

It was overwhelming, and there had been many tears.

She had known Sephiroth was strong, had known that there was always something different about him, had known that he was almost otherworldly, but nothing had prepared her for the way he had pushed his sword so easily through her father’s body. The smooth push, meeting no resistance, as if the effort had been nothing to him. 

Whoever it was that murdered her father, it _couldn’t_ have been Sephiroth. And if it was, what had prompted his return to Midgar, to Shinra Headquarters? What could have driven him to commit such brutal acts of murder without so much as an explanation?

_You will never have the Promised Land._

Charlie had thought it only a taunt, a few last mocking words to infuriate the president before silencing him forever. Could it all have had something to do with the Ancient that escaped the slaughter with the others? Or had he been working alone, exacting revenge on a company that only saw him as a number? A piece of meat? A poster boy?

Right now, she doesn’t really want to dwell on it. She had dreamed of it last night, while she dozed on Reeve’s chest, curled up in his lap with his arms around her. She had dreamed of Sephiroth and the aloof way he often looked at her six or seven years ago, a half-smile on his face as if unsure whether or not he _should_ smile at her. 

Before Charlie makes for Shinra Headquarters to meet with her brother, she has a car drive her across Sector Eight to a smaller apartment complex nearer the reactor, where there are only a few units within compared to the dozens of luxury units in her own building. 

If Tseng’s and Rude’s living spaces are anything to go by, the Turks are paid handsomely for their work, but Reno doesn’t seem to share their appreciation for finer things. 

It doesn’t bother Charlie much, even if his apartment _is_ a mess, littered with empty cigarette packs and take-out containers and used dishes, the TV blaring to no one in particular while he wanders around with a wrinkled towel hanging low around his girlish waist, muttering about missing socks. 

His body is covered in bruises and half-healed wounds, and he moves a bit slower than usual, limping back and forth across the living room as Charlie waits for him patiently, listening to the handsome news anchor on the screen.

“ _. . . late president’s son, Rufus Shinra, has delivered a statement this morning in regards to his father’s death . . . memorial services will be held at the end of the week, broadcasted nationwide . . . hopes that Midgar will finally be able to begin the healing process . . ._ ”

At least Reno had let her in, likely out of fear that she might turn around and go running to Rufus or Tseng. He doesn’t speak to her while he dresses himself, moving around the apartment so quickly and frequently that it makes her anxious. He’s always been antsy and twitchy, his brain always going a mile a minute, never resting for a single second.

Finally, when he comes out of his bedroom with his suit on, his undershirt and jacket completely unbuttoned, Reno walks back out to the living room to stand directly in front of her with his hands held behind his back, blocking the television with his crotch right in front of her face. 

Charlie lifts her eyes to look up into his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I know the timin’ is pretty terrible,” he begins, clearing his throat and offering her the thing he’s holding behind his back, a gift-wrapped box no bigger than a coaster, “but thought I might give you your birthday present a little early.”

She falters, caught so off guard that it wipes every smart answer from her brain. “What?”

“You got a concussion or something?” Reno frowns, sitting down beside her on the sofa as he forces the box into her hands. “Your birthday hasn’t changed since last year, has it? Still in a week?”

“No, it definitely hasn’t changed,” she laughs, hesitant to unwrap the gift. “It’s just . . . I guess I thought everyone forgot about it with everything going on. And you’re not really one for gifts.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting, then! Open it, yo!”

Charlie smiles at him, her anger with him temporarily forgotten. She tugs gently at the bow ( _he_ certainly hadn’t wrapped it) and it slides apart so she can pull the top off. “Oh!” she gasps, removing the watch from inside and holding it up to admire it. “Reno, this is . . . this is so thoughtful. It’s lovely. Did you find this yourself?”

“All right, all right, don’t be soundin’ so surprised, princess,” Reno chuckles, looking pleased with himself. “Saw your watch was broken when you got back from the slums, though that hasn’t stopped you from wearing it.” 

He points to the watch around her wrist, the face a tap away from being shattered, the time still frozen to when the building had exploded and knocked her out. Reeve had bought her this watch years ago, a few days after Rufus had told her father about her involvement with a Shinra employee. 

She’s loath to be rid of the watch Reeve gave her, truthfully. It’s exquisite, with a diamond pavé, the round watch head white gold with a black satin strap that fits perfectly around her wrist. But it’s broken, and Reno has just gifted her a working one that’s not quite as beautiful, but exactly her taste. 

She has other watches, of course, but all of them bought with her own money. 

“You shouldn’t have,” she tells him truthfully, watching his mouth curl into a wider smile, smug. “This is too much.”

“Not like I’m spending my hard-earned dough on much else,” he notes, gesturing around vaguely to his modest apartment. “My pockets are startin’ to overflow. Gotta spend it on someone, and I don’t think your brother would take as kindly to gift-giving.”

“He might.” Charlie can’t help but smile back at him. “Are you trying to buy back my trust and affection?”

“That might have something to do with it, yes.”

“That’s a dirty trick, even for a Turk.”

“Dirty tricks are all I know, Charlie.”

Considering him for a long moment, she finally says, “I’m the vice president now. Is that how you addressed my brother when _he_ was vice president?”

“Nope,” Reno replies with a cheeky grin, running a hand through his damp red hair. “You’ll always be Charlie to me. But I guess when we’re in front of others, I’ll at least pretend to respect you.”

“I suppose I’ll give you a pass,” she teases, watching him button the lower buttons of his shirt. “You’re probably the only one who’s remembered my birthday. That counts for something, even if the gift is meant to be a bribe.”

She cradles the watch against her chest for a moment. No one has made any mention of her upcoming birthday recently, but for good reason. Even Reeve has seemed slightly off lately, too busy trying to wrap his head around the massive amount of destruction that he’ll have to fix, and now with her father dead . . . 

He must notice something change in her demeanor, because when he speaks next, it’s a bit more sincere. “Look, Charlie, I was just doin’ my job. If we hadn’t done it, someone else would have.”

“I know,” she replies, biting down on her lower lip. “I should be angry with Tseng.”

“No, you should be angry with your old man. He’s the one that gave the boss the orders,” Reno tells her firmly, too serious for her liking. She doesn’t like when he’s too serious. “You doing okay, Charlie?”

She swallows against the lump forming in her throat. “I’m doing okay. Thank you,” she says, switching out the watches for Reno’s sake, and even kissing him on the cheek for good measure before she leaves his apartment, satisfied that he’s seemingly healing all right.

She makes another detour when she reaches the thirtieth floor of the Shinra Building a short while later, just to see Reeve for a moment. He seems surprised that she’s left the apartment at all, acting like she’s fragile or on the verge of a mental breakdown, but she assures him that it’s all right. 

“I’ve only come to collect your Shinra tax,” she teases, smiling up at him after he dismisses his staff flippantly. 

“Oh?” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “And that is . . . ?”

“That’s what I call this.” She pushes herself onto her toes to kiss him once on the lips. 

“Well, hold on,” he says, catching her wrist before she can escape. “I think I owe back taxes, Madam Vice President.”

Charlie giggles, squirming playfully against him when he wraps his arms around her, letting him pepper her face with soft kisses. “Anyone can see us,” she whispers, noticing some awkward employees trying hard not to look through the slightly tinted windows of the conference room they're in. 

Reeve offers her an exasperated scoff. “So _now_ you’re concerned about voyeurs?”

“Well . . .” Charlie smiles sheepishly. “I guess we put on a pretty good show.”

“Indeed,” he murmurs, giving her one last kiss before sending her off reluctantly. 

When she finally arrives in the president’s office, having followed the blood stains that have yet to be fully washed from the carpeted parts of the flooring, Rufus and Tseng are already inside and at the desk, heads together as they speak in low, conspiratorial tones. Dark Nation lounges in the corner, making for her immediately to nuzzle at her hand, eager for affection.

Both Rufus and Tseng look up at the sight of Charlie walking in, falling quiet. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Rufus asks sharply, seated in their father’s chair, the chair that Charlotte once thought she might be sitting in one day. “Didn’t you get any of my messages? I must have sent you six of them.”

“I don’t have a phone anymore,” she retorts, and it seems like Rufus had completely forgotten that fact, softening slightly. 

He turns to Tseng. “Get her a phone tonight,” he says, satisfied with a slight nod from the Turk at his shoulder. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago, Charlie. We’ve started without you, since you couldn’t take it upon yourself to wake up a few hours earlier.”

“I went to go see Reno. He looks terrible,” she replies, sitting down across from Rufus, in a chair that’s been pulled up for her. There’s an empty one beside her, presumably for Tseng. “And at least _he_ didn’t forget my birthday is coming up.” 

Rufus narrows his eyes as Charlie lifts her arm to show off her new watch. It’s not half as expensive as Reeve’s had been, but at least it works, tick-tick-ticking away while two of her favorite people in the world look incredulously at it, probably shocked that Reno would do something so kind and thoughtful for her. 

“He’s bribing me so I don’t hate him for Sector Seven,” she muses, meeting Tseng’s eyes for a split second.

“I haven’t forgotten your birthday, and I’m insulted that you think I would,” Rufus hisses, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Charlie and Tseng smile at each other discreetly (though Tseng’s smile is really just the shadow of one) as her brother lowers his head to look at some papers again. “Are you ready for your first meeting as vice president, sister? Just the three of us.”

When Tseng regains his seat in the chair beside Charlie, she looks sideways at him as Rufus fusses with a few dossiers that are scattered about the desk. She can’t believe that her brother has chosen to occupy the office where their father had been callously murdered only last night. 

She can’t believe she’s sitting here now, like nothing ever happened. Why isn’t she more upset? Why don’t the tears come? Surely she hasn’t cried them all already? Surely there’s _something_ left for her father. 

The father that had abandoned her at every turn. The father that had left her in the care of murderers and spies for weeks, sometimes months, to attend to business. The father that repeatedly forgot her birthday, that sometimes beat her until she bled, that recently ordered a gun held to her fiancé’s head, that coldly ordered the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people to crush a second-rate, slum-dwelling terrorist cell consisting of a handful of people. 

“ _You_ forgot my birthday was coming up, didn’t you?” she asks Tseng teasingly, his fingertips drumming against the arms of his chair.

“It may have slipped my mind with all the chaos lately,” he admits, making an effort to sound slightly apologetic. “You can’t expect me to remember every little detail.”

Charlie smiles at him, glad that he’s at least confessed to it. “So I guess you’ll have to do something _really_ big to make it up to me, won’t you?”

“Is there already something you have in mind?” Tseng asks, raising a single eyebrow. “What did I get you last year?”

“Tickets to the opera house, remember?” She sighs wistfully, lost in thought for a moment. It had been such a wonderful gift, and Charlie had loved every minute of it, more than enough to make up for Reeve’s obvious indifference towards it. Regardless, he had been a perfect gentleman the whole night, happy just to be with her. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll top that.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Rufus looks up, eyes flashing with anger at the both of them. “If the two of you are finished flirting with each other, perhaps we could begin?” he hisses. 

“Well, _I’m_ not done yet,” Charlie says, only provoking Rufus closer to real anger. She smiles at him, but it does nothing to dissolve the scowl on his face.

“Be serious, Charlie. We have a lot of work to do, and if you feel the need to make jokes every ten seconds, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I think Father’s spirit has possessed you, Rufus. You almost sounded just like him there.”

Rufus purses his lips, sighing exasperatedly. “Are you finished?”

She blushes. “Yes, I’m finished.”

The three of them spend all of the first day going over numbers—totaling up their father’s outstanding debts, determining whether or not someone has been embezzling money from the company, drafting a new budget to cut Scarlet off from a nearly unlimited amount of resources, and trying to figure out how much money it will take to repair both the reactors and the damage done to a Sector Seven. 

“You should ask Reeve for help, Rufus,” Charlie tells him, her head beginning to ache. The sun is already setting over Midgar, and she’s eager to be home and away from this office. The smell of her father’s cigar still lingers, mingling with the smell of the food they had brought up. “He’ll be able to give you the information you’re looking for.”

“I can do it myself,” Rufus snaps back at her, as irritable as she is. “I don’t need his help, and I certainly don’t _want_ it.”

“It’s what he’s here for,” she protests, not for the first time. “Have him and a few others draft up a few outlines for reconstruction plans, but in the meantime, we need to get more search and rescue vehicles out there, we need food and water to give to the survivors, and we need to give them a place to stay that _isn’t_ here. Think of how many people may have already died because of Father’s unwillingness to act quickly enough.”

“Goddamnit, Charlie, I just told you, I can do this. Didn’t you listen the first time I said it?” Rufus glances quickly towards Tseng, as if only now remembering he's in the room with them. Clearing his throat, he says smoothly, “I’ve already dispatched secondary emergency crews to whatever is left of Sector Seven. And you can tell Director Tuesti that they’re going to be _his_ responsibility from here on out.”

“Rufus, you ask too much of him,” she sighs, slightly embarrassed with Tseng watching on, hardly looking fazed by their argument. It’s not the first one they’ve had. “You’re putting too much on his plate.”

“It’s his _job_ , Charlie. If he’s incapable of managing this city, then perhaps I should find someone else to do it for him.”

When the three of them grow tired of numbers, eating silently in the office, Charlie allows herself to think.

It almost feels like a dream—Rufus, Tseng, and herself, all conspiring around the president’s own desk without having to worry about her father catching them at it. It reminds her of the games she and Rufus used to play as children, when Rufus would pretend to be a powerful and charismatic king not unlike their father, the head of a castle where Charlie was his queen. 

It feels nice to be included in a meeting so important now, to have her opinions heard and, sometimes, even praised. It’s nice to have some power— _real_ power, and it’s nice to be treated like an equal instead of some soft-hearted woman. 

Before they all go their separate ways after what feels like the longest day of her life, and as Charlie is wondering whether or not Reeve has gone home for the night, Tseng gives them both one last piece of information. 

“It seems Professor Hojo doesn’t want to be found. He’s resigned, and the Jenova specimen is missing,” he says, hands held behind his back. “It may be that he has already left Midgar. Should we send a team after him, sir?”

Rufus thinks for a moment, looking at his sister. “I’d prefer to keep you all here, and according to Charlie, Reno is in no shape to travel just yet. Have you found a temporary replacement?”

“Yes, sir,” Tseng answers, pleasing Rufus immensely. “Elena. She’s been tracking Professor Hojo with Rude. She’s certainly capable. Bored of her training, I think, but impossibly excitable.” He turns to face Charlie as Rufus picks his jacket up off the back of their father’s chair, brushing it off. “Be nice to her, Charlotte.”

“Who are _you_ to give _me_ orders?” Charlie asks, surprised at the audacity with which the command had been spoken. Though, truthfully, it had sounded more like a plea, especially with him calling her by her first name. 

She doesn’t really mind it all that much.

“I’m asking you,” Tseng continues in a low voice, seemingly very aware of the scowl Rufus throws in their direction. Charlie doesn’t need him to elaborate—she certainly can’t deny that she owes him a few favors. “She’s nervous, and intimidated by you.” 

“What do you mean she’s intimidated by me?” Charlie scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I haven’t done anything to her!”

“We don’t have the liberty of picking the best from a handful of potentials anymore. Not all of them are destined to be perfect. Be nice.”

She inhales deeply, pursing her lips together tight. “All right, fine,” she agrees after a moment. “I’ll be nice to her, but I’m only doing it for you.”

“Leave Hojo be for now,” Rufus interrupts loudly, looking furious at having been forgotten. “We’ll discuss him another time. I’m tired tonight, and the stink of cigar is starting to get to me.”

When she gets home that night, Charlie locks herself in her office, suddenly overwhelmed with how quickly things are moving. It’s only then that she begins to cry, and the tears don’t stop for at least an hour.

She isn’t sure whether or not she cries for her father, or if the tears are just a form of built-up stress after all the number crunching she had done today. 

The day after that is spent with only Rufus, as they put the company aside temporarily to decide on what to do with their father’s things. They open the liquor cabinet early that day, and he’s a bit gentler with her, too, now that he doesn’t have to compete for Charlie’s attention.

“What about the beach house?” he asks her, sighing as he thumbs through the thick stack of paperwork for the villa, seated on a brand new sofa next to Charlie. “Should we sell it? I bet we could get a fortune from it.”

“What? No!” Charlie answers quickly, looking down over his shoulder at the paperwork. “I like the beach house. Please don’t get rid of it.”

“Charlie, you’re hardly ever there.”

“Well . . . I don’t want to sell it. If I wasn’t so busy, I’d be there more.”

“Fine, but I’m selling the whore house in Sector Three, furniture and all. I don’t even want to step foot in it.”

Charlie shrugs casually at that. She doesn’t really care what Rufus does with that house.

“That leaves the family estate,” he hums, tapping his chin with a long index finger. “I haven’t set foot in that house in years. Have you been there recently?”

“No, and I never want to go back. You can sell that house, too, but you’ll have to go back and make sure there’s nothing important there,” she reminds him, suddenly smiling pleadingly. She knows that her suggestion may not be taken kindly. “You could bring Reeve with you.”

“What? No. I’m not doing that.” He looks horrified by the mere suggestion, just as she expected. 

“It would give me some time to move into my office, and you could talk to him about reconstruction plans,” she presses him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Please, Rufus, that would mean so much to me.”

Rufus scrunches his nose, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Father is dead now. You realize you don’t have to marry him anymore, don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to marry him?”

“I can think of several reasons—”

“Then it’s a good thing _you’re_ not the one marrying him.” Charlie shifts on the sofa, clutching at her brother’s arm. “Please, Rufus. I want the both of you to get along. I’m not asking you to be friends, just that you make an effort to be kind to him.”

Rufus grits his teeth, unable to say ‘no’ to her. “Fine, I’ll take him to the house tomorrow. Tell him I’ll pick him up at nine. If he hears it from you, maybe he won’t think it’s a trap.”

“ _Don’t_ threaten him. I’m serious.”

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of it, sister.” He looks her over curiously, his mouth a thin line. Charlie wraps her hands around his bicep, nuzzling against him, the comfort she receives from him truly incomparable. “What does he think of all this? Of Father?”

“We haven’t really talked about it,” she admits carefully. “But he hasn’t shed any tears for Father, if that’s what you mean.”

“I still can’t believe _you_ did, after all Father did. At least he’s not here to keep us apart any longer.”

She smiles up at her brother. “And you haven’t cried at all?”

“No.” Rufus touches her face, letting her curl up at his side. His palm smooths back her hair, and he kisses her forehead. “You and me, sweet sister. This is the way it was always meant to be.”

Charlie reaches up to fix his own hair, to brush the stray pieces out of his eyes. “What you did to Palmer was inexcusable, you know.”

Rufus’s jaw clamps shut. He turns bodily to face her, causing Charlie to nearly fall forward into his lap after the hasty way he moves. “I did that for _you_ ,” he says, lifting a hand to tangle his fingers in the back of her hair, tugging sharply to tilt her head back, to force her to look up into his face.

Charlie cries out, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t ask you to do that for me,” she replies breathily. 

Rufus tugs again, and she hisses through gritted teeth. “It’s what he deserved.”

“ _Rufus,_ ” she gasps, closing her eyes, “you’re hurting me.”

His grip softens immediately, and Charlie opens her eyes again to see his face has softened, as well. The tips of his fingers gently massage the back of her head, easing the pain. “I will not tolerate disrespect towards you,” he tells her firmly. “If you’d rather I delegate the more messy aspects to someone else, I’m sure Tseng would be happy to continue what I’ve started.”

“I don’t want him to do that for me.”

“No?” Rufus sneers, keeping her head firmly in place, moving his face closer to her own. 

“No. How could you ask that of him?”

“Ask the other men he's already killed for you. See if he isn’t up for the task.”

Charlie’s heart starts to beat very fast. _I’m surrounded by murderers and liars. I’m one of them now._ “You’re scaring me.”

Rufus hesitates before smiling at her, pressing a very soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and pulling his hand out of her hair. “Didn't I tell you before?” he whispers. “Now that I’m president, the only people that matter and you and me.”

Charlie doesn’t answer, feeling her brother’s fingertips brush lightly against her hand as he continues to look through the paperwork. 

When Reeve reports back to her the next evening, Charlie is pleased to hear that Rufus had indeed made an effort, but she’s less pleased when Reeve presents her with a box she hasn’t looked at in years. 

She knows what’s inside of it, and she knows that Reeve has probably already looked inside, despite telling her he hadn’t. It’s where she keeps the pictures Angeal had sent her while away on top secret missions, some letters from Veld (including the last one she had ever received), and a few other pictures with the people she loves best. 

And when he asks her that night who her first kiss had been with a little note of panic in his voice, Charlie begins to panic, as well. She doesn’t want to tell Reeve that her first kiss had been with Cid, and she _especially_ doesn’t want to tell him that before Cid, she had been known to kiss Rufus from time to time. 

She doesn’t think kisses with a brother count as real kisses anyway. That’s not how _she_ sees it, but she isn’t certain how Reeve would see it.

Charlie knows that she has to lie, so she tells him her first kiss had been with Angeal. It’s not like there’s anyone around to dispute that fact. 

Reeve doesn’t bring it up again.

Her father’s funeral is an intimate thing, with cameras pointed towards the closed coffin and the heavy man who speaks, urging everyone to remember President Shinra as he was in life: just, fair, generous, ambitious. 

It’s a joke.

Charlie, Rufus, and Tseng sit at the very front, as befits their positions, but Reeve has been seated a few rows back with the other directors, which only serves to annoy her. 

After thirty minutes of listening to a stranger drone on about their father, Charlie begins to squirm, bored out of her mind and getting rather warm. Her brother refuses to let go of her hand, his thumb sometimes swiping back and forth across the back of her hand, and he looks just as unhappy to be here as she is. 

“This is ridiculous,” she whispers in Tseng’s ear, hardly able to keep quiet for much longer. “The man I’m going to marry in a few months is sitting rows behind me at my own father’s funeral.”

“I assure you, I had no say whatsoever in the seating chart,” Tseng murmurs back, his breath hot on her ear. 

“I believe you.” When she turns slightly to look him in the face, it’s to find him looking almost amused. “Only Rufus would do something so petty.”

Charlie covers her mouth, stifling a small giggle, even as the corners of Tseng’s mouth quirk upwards. 

Rufus leans over, scowling at them both. His grip on her hand never lessens, clutching at her tight with no intention of letting go, as if afraid she’ll run away the moment he does. “What are you two whispering about over here?” he hisses, the back of his neck slightly pink. 

“Nothing,” she assures him, giving his hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.” He looks away reluctantly, eyes lingering on her face for a little too long. When her brother’s attention is finally turned once again on their father’s coffin, Charlie leans back into Tseng. “You know, I’m still upset with you.”

“What have I done?”

“You know what you’ve done. Reno told me I shouldn’t be mad at you, though.”

Tseng fixes his gaze upon her father’s coffin for a few moments, thinking so hard that Charlie thinks she might be able to see steam blowing out from both of his ears. “It was all business,” he finally answers. “None of it was personal. I was only following orders.”

“My father once said you were a good and loyal boy,” Charlie remembers. “I’m starting to suspect that’s a very fair assessment of you.”

“Surely you know me better than that by now.”

Damn him. It’s so hard to stay mad at him. She loves him too much, even if she would never admit it. “I have an idea. Do you want to hear it?”

He hums curiously. 

“I’m going to give you a raise. Consider it repayment for everything you’ve done for me.”

He almost chuckles before remembering where he is, glancing up towards the man delivering the eulogy again. “Trust me, the president sees that I’m compensated well enough for watching over you.”

“You mean he’s bought your loyalty. How much does my brother pay you?”

“I don’t recall that my finances are any of your concern, Madam Vice President,” he remarks smoothly, _teasing_ her at her _father’s_ funeral. And yet it makes her feel better, able to smile about it despite the inappropriate situation. It’s good to know that someone else is still able to find a shred of humor in this, even if it’s a subtle humor. “If you’d like to submit a request for a formal audit, I suppose that might _make_ it your business.”

“I’m almost afraid to know what you spend all this _compensation_ on.”

“I have to keep some of my secrets, Charlotte.”

“Don’t play coy with _me_. I know you keep an eye on my own purchases.”

“I’m paid to.”

“Hey!” Rufus hisses again, red in the face, frowning deeply at the two of them. It’s odd to see him so worked up, but Charlie attributes it to the endless demands of his new job. “Stop _flirting_ with each other. Don’t you realize where we are?”

“Rufus, relax,” she murmurs into her brother’s ear, watching the tension leave his shoulders at the sound of her voice. She squeezes his hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

“The director and I saw your little picture, you know,” he says coldly, and this time, it’s her that almost laughs aloud. “The one of you laying in Tseng’s lap like the whore you are.”

“Gods, you’re being so dramatic. It was for about ten seconds, no more,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “I’ve sat in _your_ lap for far longer.”

Cissnei had taken the picture while the three of them had been spending time in Costa del Sol, shortly after Angeal had been declared missing-in-action. It had all been for a drunken dare, and Charlie had been sure that Tseng would put up more of a struggle, but when she had slipped into his lap, like she had done it a thousand times before, it was to meet no resistance in the slightest. 

It was comforting, not being pushed away. It was nice to have someone hold her, even briefly. She hadn’t flinched at his touch, knowing that those hands would never hurt her, and after the ten seconds she had stayed in his lap, Charlie had felt completely emotionally drained. 

And when it had just been Tseng at the villa later that night, Charlie had tried once more to slip into his lap, just to be held, desperate for someone to touch her even innocently. 

He hadn’t been as responsive to that, and as Charlie had straddled his waist on the sofa, Tseng had smiled at her and politely indicated that he would find himself both unemployed and in a lot of trouble if someone caught them in such a compromising position. 

Part of her had been shocked that he had the audacity to reject her, and the other half had just been embarrassed.

“I just . . . wanted you to hold me,” she had confessed shyly, hands on his shoulders. “I’m lonely.”

“No,” he had told her, mostly immune to her careful flattery, her girlish charm, and her clumsy seduction technique of wriggling against his lap, the same way she used to get Rufus to do whatever she wanted. “You want someone to hold you, but not me.”

He had been right, of course. The only reason Charlie had been comfortable enough to seek him out was because she trusted him with her life, and the rejection, though kind and half-expected, had stung. 

“Are you going to tell anyone?” she had asked, fearful for both of their lives. “Are you going to tell Rufus?”

“Of course not. I’m very flattered, Charlotte, but I rather value my life, you know.”

The idea of Tseng being hurt because of her own insecurities and need for affection had frightened her, and Charlie had quickly climbed off him with her face bright red, locking herself in her bedroom for the rest of the night, alone. 

At least he doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge against her all these years later.

“He was jealous, you know,” Rufus adds quickly, as an afterthought. “The director. You should have seen his face.”

“It sounds like you’re a little jealous, too,” she whispers back, causing his nostrils to flare in anger. 

“I’m sorry,” he growls, lips brushing against her ear, “but it’s very maddening to find out you fucked Tseng by a picture.”

Charlie blushes, smiling to cover her embarrassment, glad that Tseng can’t hear their whispered conversation (unless he’s simply tactful enough to pretend he can’t hear). “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“So you _did_ fuck him?”

“No,” she whispers heatedly, frowning. Charlie tries to pull away from him, but Rufus’s grip on her hand tightens. “I didn’t.”

That night, Charlie locks herself in her home office again after Reeve falls asleep. Sleep is not something that comes easily to her, not since the night of the first bombing. Her sleep is always broken up with horrible dreams, dreams that seem to stem from her biggest insecurities and fears, memories of those she loved.

She stares down at the envelope with her name on it for a long time, wishing she didn’t have to go through with this alone, but not wanting Reeve to see what may be written inside. 

Picking up the new phone Tseng had bought for her (he had _promised_ it wasn’t bugged, but she hadn’t entirely believed him), she holds her head in her hands while the other line rings. 

“ _‘Lo?_ ”

“Hey, it’s me. Did I wake you?”

“ _Yeah, but it’s all right. Somethin’ wrong?_ ”

“I’m about to read my father’s letter, but I’m afraid. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“ _Where’s your husband?_ ”

Charlie blushes. “Sleeping. I don’t want him to hear whatever my father felt he had to say to me.” He’s so quiet on the other end that she thinks he might have hung up, but then she hears the unmistakable flicking of a lighter, and she has to smile. “Will you stay on the line with me if I read it to you?”

Cid coughs for a moment, muffled and quiet. “ _I dunno if I’m qualified for this sorta thing, Lottie. Maybe your fiancé should be_ —”

“Cid, please,” she begs, ashamed that she has to resort to begging at all, but if there’s anyone that might understand her apprehension right now, it’s him. She wants to hear Cid’s non-filtered bullshit, wants to hear what he thinks, wants to hear how he feels, all for a little validation. “I won’t ask you for anything ever again, I swear it. I can’t do this alone.”

He sighs.

“Having the vice president in your good graces will get you far, Captain,” she reminds him, trying to sound cheerful about it. 

“ _Just read the fuckin’ letter, Lottie._ ”

She pauses, the nickname very comforting to her. It’s still odd to hear people address her as ‘Madam Vice President’, and hearing something so intimate and familiar as ‘Lottie’ keeps her grounded. 

Holding her phone between her shoulder and her ear, Charlie opens the envelope with shaking fingers. There are five brittle-feeling and aged papers folded inside, her father’s sharp handwriting on each of them. Things are crossed out and rewritten, and it’s clear he hadn’t written these in one sitting, judging by the difference in ink in some places. 

“Cid?” she asks after a minute.

“ _Yeah?_ ”

She exhales audibly. “Just making sure you’re still there.” She holds up the first paper, searching for a date, but there’s nothing to indicate how long ago he had written it.

_Char,_

_I know you hate that name. I know you style yourself as ‘Charlie’, just like the man I named you after. My great-uncle Charles, known as Char, but Charlie to me. He was funny, like you. I know I’m hard on you, but you were never like your brother. Rufus possessed a certain ruthlessness from the beginning, but not you. You were always sweet. You may not believe me, but I was only hard on you because I wanted you to succeed, to grow, to learn._

Charlie’s breath hitches when she finishes reading it softly through the phone. “I don’t know if I can keep reading these—”

“ _You cryin’?_ ”

She doesn’t even realize it until he says something. “Yeah,” she rasps, swiping at the fat tears that crawl down her cheeks.. 

“ _Aw, honey, don’t cry,_ ” he says sleepily, and she suddenly feels guilty for waking him. 

Hearing him speak so gently to her only makes her cry harder. She doesn’t have to pretend with him, she doesn’t have to put on a smile and offer sweet laughter. 

“ _Lottie, honey, c’mon, don’t cry, you’re breakin’ my heart,_ ” he continues, and Charlie runs a hand down her face, wiping the tears away.

“I should go,” she says stupidly, wondering if Tseng knows she’s talking to the pilot he once threatened to shoot. “I’m sorry.”

The next few days pass in a haze. She hardly sees Reeve except when she falls into bed at night to sleep, she’s still grappling with the possibility of telling him the complete truth about what led to the plate drop, and after Tseng claims to “accidentally” have made a mistake with scheduling, she’s forced to spend a few hours of quality time with Elena. 

“So . . . what do you think of the new job? It must be boring, babysitting me,” Charlie begins painfully, dealing both she and Elena a handful of cards and putting a few gil in the center of the coffee table. 

“Tseng said you’d say that,” Elena answers brightly, her eyebrows knitting together when she picks up her cards, tucking some of her short blonde hair behind her ear. “I guess he knows everything about you, doesn’t he? He’s a great boss. I’m really glad to be working with him. For him. I love working _for_ him. For the Turks, I mean. It’s great to finally be given an assignment.”

Charlie narrows her eyes at the Turk. She’s a young girl, probably no older than twenty-two or twenty-three, with wide eyes and a heart-shaped face. “Yeah, I guess he knows everything about me. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am. I’m excited to be friends with you. Tseng says you’re friends with all the other Turks.”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve known them all for a long time.”

“Rude said I shouldn’t be so nervous about spending time with you,” she rambles, and Charlie listens patiently, one of her eyebrows raised. “But I really admire you, and Tseng says that admiration isn’t entirely misplaced. He said that exactly.”

“Did he?”

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Elena asks again, turning pink when she notices Charlie staring at her. “Tseng, I mean. Well, I mean he’s a great boss. Don’t you think? I guess he’s not really your boss, though. I guess you’re _his_ boss.”

“Yeah,” Charlie answers flatly, “he’s great.”

Flushing, Elena quickly casts around for another subject. “What about you? What do you like to do?”

“What? Why do you want to know that?”

Elena blinks stupidly at her, unable to stop blushing. “I just . . . wanted to get to know you, that’s all. Should I have asked something else?”

Charlie’s chest tightens and her mouth suddenly goes dry. She feels embarrassed, wanting to do good by Tseng by being kind to Elena, but she’s not good at making friends, and she’s never really been good at making friends with _women_. 

“Um,” she stammers, looking down blankly at her cards. “Sorry. I . . . don’t really know what to say.”

Elena smiles reassuringly at her. “You don’t have to say anything. We could just play cards, if you want. But you’ll have to teach me. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

This makes Charlie smile, and she sets her cards down, pushing their starting bets towards Elena for her to keep. “I could just put a movie on and order us some food,” she suggests. It seems an easy way to keep her quiet.

“Oh, you’re _way_ cooler than Reno said you were.”

And after her move night with Elena, Charlie attends a small party held at Shinra Headquarters, where the wealthiest donors are able to have a semi-private audience with the new president. 

She had been excited, thrilled, to finally have a reason to get dressed up, to have something to look forward to after the murder of her father. Reeve had even decided to attend, despite her telling him that he would be bored.

Unfortunately, Charlie is severely disappointed upon meeting with all of her father’s business friends and partners. They haven’t forgotten the speech she was forced to give, accepting responsibility for Avalanche’s crimes (and her father’s crimes), clearly reluctant to associate with her no matter how many times Rufus has to assure them of her competence and innocence. 

She knows they all hate her, watching her move across the room, talking behind their hands to their wives, husbands, mistresses, children, and friends. With the plate drop still fresh in their minds, Charlie knows they’re blaming her, lumping her together with a group of eco-terrorists. They’re silently questioning Rufus’s decision to make her vice president, silently criticizing him, and while he must know this, he refuses to say anything bad about his sister in front of all these people.

Once, after she escapes Rufus to find herself a drink, he corners her in a shadowy little alcove, half-hidden from view. 

“What are you doing here by yourself?” Rufus snaps at her, looking handsome in an expensive, fitted black suit, his light blond hair slicked back in much the same style as her own hair. “Let’s dance.”

“I don’t feel like dancing right now.”

“Have I told you that you look lovely tonight, sweet sister? It’s a waste to have you standing alone, looking so beautiful.”

Charlie is forced to attribute his recent attitude change to the stress of the presidency. Every time he speaks to her, he seems to speak with malice, more possessive than he’s ever been, always eager to keep her locked up in his office with him for hours. 

“I want to spend time with Reeve. I’ve hardly seen him all night,” she murmurs, and Rufus takes her champagne flute right out of her hands, placing it on a nearby table. “I want to go home.”

“You’re not going home,” he snarls in her face, gripping her wrist tight and backing her further into the corner. “You’re going to act like my vice president and prove to everyone that I made the right choice. You’ll go home when I _say_ it’s time for you to go home.”

And another time, while dancing with her brother, Rufus seems to snap again at seemingly nothing. “Have you forgotten how to smile?” he asks sharply. “Have you finally decided tonight that you’re no longer going to joke around?”

“Rufus, I told you, I don’t want to be here—”

“Suddenly lost your appetite for power? Do you want these people to think you’re _weak?_ Look at them.” He gestures with his chin to the people around them. “They’re already thinking it.”

Charlie’s face hardens instantly and she tries to look away from him, but Rufus grabs hold of her chin and forces her to look at him, not letting go despite her slight struggle to get away from him. 

Rufus’s voice is low, cold, slow, and commanding. “You will go home when I _say_ it’s time. The company is mine now,” he tells her, lowering his voice further, “and so are you.”

She’s grateful when she’s able to convince a very intoxicated Reeve to take her home, sneaking out of the party and turning off her phone before Rufus decides to call twenty times in a row. 

The moment the door of their apartment slams shut behind them, Charlie is being pressed against it, clumsy fingers scrabbling at the zipper of her dress to very nearly tear it off her, leaving her standing very naked in the foyer of her dark home. 

Instinctively, she wraps her arms around herself, trying hard to put on a smile for him, but it doesn’t come easily. Her chest heaves, nerves jangling, even as Reeve kisses down her throat, helping her step out of the dress that pools at her feet. 

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers, cut off before she can confess by his lips pressing against hers, swallowing the confession before it even forms properly on her tongue. “Reeve, please—”

He pulls away from her, hands holding her waist. His eyes are heavy, his hairline slightly damp with sweat, some dark strands of hair falling into his eyes. “Can it wait until the morning?”

Charlie hesitates. Does he already know? Is it possible that he’s known the whole time? “Reeve, I—”

Reeve shushes her, kissing her again to keep her from talking. “It’s okay, Charlotte.”

“No, please, listen, I—”

“Don’t,” he breathes, and there’s something sad about the single word uttered. 

_He knows_ , she thinks, _and he’s giving me one more night._

The sheer dread that overtakes her at that moment is too much. Can he feel her heart pounding against his own chest? Can he taste the guilt and lies on her tongue? Does this mean he’ll hate her in the morning? That he’s trying to say good-bye now?

It certainly feels that way, when he finally makes sad and broken love to her that night, or maybe it’s just her mind jumping to conclusions. It’s not the same, it’s not loving and tender, and there are no smiles or laughter. 

Charlie cries silently afterwards, curled up against his chest, one leg thrown over his own. She toys with his hand and fingers while he dozes, and he sometimes responds by kissing her fingers or the top of her head. 

And she tries again, she really does, wanting to get the confession off her chest, wanting to acknowledge her role in the mass destruction, unable to live with it anymore.

“I have to tell you something,” she says again, hoping he doesn’t push her away. 

“In the morning. _Please_ ,” he whispers into her hair. “Let me have this. You asked what I wanted, and I want this.”

Charlie swallows hard, nuzzling against him. _He knows, he knows, he knows._ She doesn’t know if she’ll have the courage in the morning anymore. “Okay.”


	26. Chapter 26

Charlie is already awake as the sun rises, the muffled sounds of the city filtering in through the wide windows, the sounds of morning traffic and the familiar hum of the mako reactors. 

She wants to kiss him, but knows that it will only wake him, and then the dream will be over. Instead, she contents herself with looking, touching very lightly, trying to make sure she’ll never forget what he looked like the last morning she spent with him. And she’s sure it will be the last.

It’s not like she’s going to force him to stay. She knows how much the reactor bombings and the dropped plate have affected him, knows that it makes him anxious and sick and horrified, and she knows that, once he hears of her involvement, it will only intensify feelings of resentment towards her. 

Propped up on an elbow, Charlie drags her fingertips across his broad chest, tracing his ribs and the faint outline of the taut muscles in his stomach and the thatch of dark hair that trails from his navel to the waistband of his boxers. She almost slips a hand down the front of them, to wake him with a few well-placed touches, but she still doesn’t want to wake him at all.

She brushes her leg against his own long legs, thighs and calves hard with muscle, the coarse hair rough against her smooth skin. All she wants to do is touch him, a man she once thought out of her reach, when she was still a child and completely stricken by him as a younger man.

Charlie looks down upon his face, wanting to cry. By all means, he’s conventionally attractive, and he’s developed lines at the corners of his eyes in the past few years that are accentuated when he laughs, and sometimes she finds little gray hairs mingling with the dark ones that she privately adores.

Brushing the backs of her fingers against his high cheekbones, Charlie sighs. She can’t prolong it any longer, and she’s tired of looking at him instead of kissing him or talking to him. Besides, it might be kind to wake him now—his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, as if he’s having unpleasant dreams, like a dream of an entire plate being dropped while he’s helpless to stop it. 

She kisses him gently on the mouth, pulling back to see if he’ll stir. When he doesn’t, she continues to kiss his cheek, down the side of his neck and on his throat, lips touching his Adam’s apple. She’s woken him like this for years now, never tiring of it. 

He moans softly, raising a hand to rub at his temples as his eyes flutter open to look at her. 

“Hungover?” she can’t help but ask, smiling down at him when he nods. “Can I get you anything?”

“No,” he answers, propping himself up slightly against the headboard, knuckling his eyes, shadows present beneath them. She should have let him sleep longer. “It’s fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Charlie smiles, kissing up and down his neck again, all while he nuzzles against her hair. “Don’t be too greedy,” she teases, nipping at his skin hard enough to make him inhale sharply. Instead of continuing, she pulls back again. “I have to talk to you.”

“Go ahead, Charlie, I’m listening.”

The words catch in her throat. Why is it so hard to tell him this? Why is it so hard to confess? Reeve is the man she trusts _most_ in the entire world, and it’s been that way for ten years now, ever since first meeting him in the corridors of the sixty-fourth floor of the Shinra Building. 

It’s just . . . lately, it’s easier to keep things from him if it will keep him happy. Anything that will keep him from possibly loving her any less is something immediately squashed and forgotten or twisted into some little lie that will spare his feelings. 

It’s all because she loves him, because she wants him by her side _always,_ because she would rather die than let another woman have him, would rather die than know that another woman might be touching him and kissing him and loving him. 

There’s something unsettling in his eyes as he looks at her, eyes so dark that she can almost see the reflection of her pale skin in them. He watches her while she sits up, keeping a sheet trapped against her bare chest. 

“Why do you look so nervous?” she asks him, her mouth impossibly dry. 

“I . . . don’t know,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you think I’m going to say?”

He flushes, looking away from her. Charlie doesn’t have to spend much time imagining what he might be thinking. Surely he thinks she’s been fucking every man in her life since she became an adult, especially after snooping through her box of sentimental pictures and letters. 

Rufus would be able to say it. He wouldn’t care what anyone thought of him, so long as he believed he had been attempting to do _good_. He would be unapologetic and unabashed . . . but he hadn’t been the reason that the Sector Seven plate was dropped. Even Rufus couldn’t callously admit to something like this without a little bit of doubt and hesitation. 

She’s just going to do it. She’s just going to say it, and if Reeve decides he can’t be with her because of it, at least she won’t be alone. She’ll still have Rufus, Tseng and Reno and Rude and Elena, and maybe Cid. 

“I’m the reason the plate was dropped on Sector Seven,” she says, and her throat immediately seizes up, as if willing her not to continue. 

Reeve sighs loudly. “Charlie, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. You know you’re not responsible for—”

“But I am,” she interrupts him, watching his eyebrows knit together again. “I’ve been passing information to Avalanche ever since I hired Pia. None of it was really damning, but I passed every shred of information I thought would hurt my father if it became public knowledge.”

Several expressions flit across his face before he settles on apprehension. It makes her heart flutter and it makes cold sweat form at her hairline. “What could you hope to possibly gain from something like that?”

Charlie shrugs, feeling like a child again, being scolded by Veld for doing something she had been told several times not to do. “I just wanted my father to suffer,” she finds herself saying, as if the words come naturally to her, long buried feelings, “like he’s made me suffer all these years. Like he’s made _Rufus_ suffer.”

A muscle jumps in Reeve’s cheek, his teeth clenched tight, eyes never leaving her face. 

Perhaps it’s guilt that forces her to continue, even with her brain screaming for her to stop, to drop it forever, to never mention it again and go on living her perfect life with her perfect husband and whatever perfect children they may have. 

She tells him everything, speaks her truth to Reeve’s stony and pale face, telling him about the bomb instructions she’d given to Avalanche and telling him about the bomb she had built herself. She doesn’t shy away from what she’s done, acknowledging in full that lives that were lost in the bombings, how she never intended it to be that way, pleading with him to understand, apologizing tearfully for destroying his reactors, apologizing for making his life a living hell for the past two weeks or so. 

And all the while he listens, not speaking a word, not asking a single question. Charlie can’t deny the look of contempt in his face, the look of pure disgust and horror, and to know that it’s directed towards _her_ is the worst part. 

By the end of it, she’s sobbing, and Reeve is getting dressed quickly in clothes that don’t quite match, throwing things into his gym bag even as she pleads with him to stay, to get back in bed and enjoy the only day they might have together for weeks. 

Charlie has never felt so weak before in her life, half-naked and clinging to his hand, begging for him to love her just as much as he did before, begging him not to leave her. If Rufus could see her now, he might put her out of her misery and chalk it up to sympathy. 

Shinras don’t beg. That had been life lesson number one. Shinras don’t beg for handouts, for forgiveness, for permission, for anything. Shinras _take_ what they want, however they can.

Yet here she is, begging a man to stay and love her, begging him to get back in bed, begging him to kiss her. 

She attempts to undress him, hoping that it will slow him down a little bit, trying to seduce him right back into bed with her. She unbuttons the buttons on his shirt, slips a hand down the front of his pants, makes sweet little noises that she knows he likes. None of it works, and Reeve drops his bag, clutches her wrists gently and moves them back to her sides. 

He is exasperated and angry, very angry, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. But even in his anger and rage and betrayal and hurt, when he puts his hands on her cheeks to cradle her face, he’s still gentle and soft, and up close, his eyes seem watery. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, knowing that it’s not enough. “Please don’t leave me. I love you. I love you so much and I don’t want you to go. Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to fix it.”

Reeve doesn’t answer right away. Perhaps he knows there’s no fixing it. Perhaps he knows he won’t be able to keep away from her forever. That’s how it’s always been, and Charlie thinks that’s how it always will be, but she doesn’t want the image of her to be tainted in his eyes. 

“You can’t fix it, Charlie,” he says desperately, his grip on her face tightening, but not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt. “Those people are dead, and you can’t change that. Hundreds of thousands of innocent people are dead now because of Avalanche. The entire city is in mourning, there are infantrymen digging mass graves on the outskirts of the city, and the survivors are being rounded up in public buildings with no idea what the future is to bring. How can you fix that?”

Charlie wishes he would yell at her. Anything would be better than _this._

“How could you think that associating with terrorists could ever result in anything _good?_ ”

“I only wanted to help—”

“We could have done something together. We could have figured it out _together_ ,” he protests, pulling away from her and groaning, breathing very hard. Reeve turns away from her for a moment, stooping to pick up his bag again. “I told you, Charlie, I told you that your desire to rebel was going to eventually backfire on you. How could you have lived through that first explosion and been prepared to go back and build _another_ bomb? After what you’d seen?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen—I don’t know what went wrong, but I never intended for that to happen—”

“But it did happen,” he counters, looking completely distraught and broken when he glances over his shoulder at her, shoulders slumped, a man defeated. “I just . . . need some time to think.”

He leaves Charlie crying in their bed, walking out without turning back once, and it’s only then that she realizes, maybe, that Rufus has been wrong all along about a lack of a backbone.

* * *

Reeve doesn’t come home that night, nor does he attempt to contact her at all throughout the day.

She tries to catch him the following day at Headquarters before she makes for her office, having overslept and arriving hours after she usually does, but when she approaches Reeve’s assistant, she’s met with another disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Madam Vice President, but Director Tuesti had planned to inspect the remains of Sector Seven today. I could leave a message for him, if you’d like, ma’am?”

“Um,” Charlie stutters, feeling a lump forming in her throat again. The last thing she wants to do is cry in front of Reeve’s assistant. She might never live that down. “Do you know when he’s planning on coming back?”

“He has a meeting at three, ma’am, if that helps.”

It doesn’t, but Charlie thanks the woman anyway and heads up to her office. She’s completely moved in now, her magazine covers framed and hanging behind her desk, her favorite pictures of she and Reeve on another part of the wall, along with pictures of she and Rufus. Even the furniture is arranged nicely, gifts from Rufus as a ‘congratulations’ on her vice presidency. 

Without an assistant to bother her (she doesn’t quite ready to hire another one, not after Tseng had informed her of Pia’s horrible fate), Charlie is able to get quite a bit of work done, unable to escape Reeve even on her computer, who has sent her some vague information needed to prepare a new budget for the department very early in the morning, earlier than he usually gets to work. 

She takes a certain vindictive pleasure in preparing to cut the budget of Scarlet’s department, and Hojo’s, which she’s sure Rufus will put his stamp of approval on. 

It’s not long until she’s interrupted, a few curt knocks on the door before it’s opened boldly, but it’s only Tseng, and Charlie smiles weakly at him as he lets himself in, returning to finish her work. 

“Have a seat,” she offers. “I’m not really as busy as I’m pretending to be.”

“You certainly put on a very convincing act, Madam Vice President.”

She smiles more genuinely, giving her head a shake. “High praise, coming from one of the busiest men I know. I don’t even know what you do most of the time, when you’re not spying on me.”

“There’s more paperwork involved than you might think.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

Tseng looks down into his lap to hide his smile, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s not like you to oversleep.”

This statement makes Charlie curious, and she gives him her full attention, hating how obvious it likely is to him that she’s been crying. “Is everything all right?” she asks. “Look, I swear, I was nice to Elena—”

“And you have my appreciation for your effort,” he interrupts, holding up a hand to stop her. “The president has just given us a new assignment, and I wanted to tell you before we left. There have been whispers that Sephiroth was seen making towards the Mythril Mines, and we’ve been tasked with following him.”

“All of you?” Charlie asks, her heart breaking all over again. 

“Reno will join us later, when he’s fully recovered, but until then, yes, the rest of us.”

“Oh,” she says stupidly, clearing her throat. “Well, be careful.”

Tseng hesitates, nodding very slightly at her. “Of course,” he replies, and there’s something in his tone that Charlie doesn’t think she’s ever heard before. She can’t quite place it—it’s not really fear, nor remorse, but something genuine that she knows Rufus has likely never heard from him before. “I haven’t given you your birthday gift yet, and since we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, I’d like to give it to you tonight.”

Charlie gives him a tired smile. “I was only joking, Tseng, really,” she answers. “You can just take me out for dinner when you come back or something.”

“If that’s what you want,” he replies carefully. “I had something else in mind, however, if you’re willing to hear me out.”

She looks away from her computer screen to glance at him again. “Oh? What is it?”

He opens his mouth to answer, closing it at the last minute. “Is it safe to assume that the director won’t be coming home tonight?”

“How do you know about that?”

“You’re the one that asked me to keep an eye on him,” Tseng explains, the corners of his mouth twitching, as if smiling too obviously would be his downfall. “I suppose it’s only natural for him to need space after the confession you made, Charlotte.”

Charlie tenses, every muscle in her body tightening painfully. “You bugged my apartment.”

“I did.”

She looks at him for a long time, almost daring him to say something about it. If he’s angry or upset with her, he hides it very well. “And?”

“And I can assure you that none of it was directly your fault,” he continues, though it doesn’t make her feel any better. “If you hadn’t commissioned your . . . _talents_ to them, it would have been someone else. Perhaps someone a little less skilled and practiced and a little more . . . enthusiastic.”

Charlie averts her eyes, fixing them upon the e-mail sitting unread on her computer screen. She had been halfway through typing a reply to Reeve (with absolutely nothing to do with the budget) in the hopes of hearing a reply. He might ignore her texts, but a professional e-mail will certainly be opened.

 _He can’t ignore me,_ she thinks, _I’m the vice president._

Tseng moves his chair closer to the desk, leaning forward and lowering his voice, snapping her out of her reverie. “Anyone who really knew you would be able to see that you were conspiring with Avalanche. Your motivations were laid bare in front of us all after seeing the way you were treated. It was only the director’s willful blindness that kept him from coming to terms with it.”

“Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t _anyone_ try to stop me if it was so obvious?”

“Would you have listened if we tried to confront you?”

Charlie doesn’t have an answer for him. The answer would likely be _no_ , she wouldn’t have listened. She would have carried on as she had before, onto bigger and better things to exact revenge on her father, too afraid to go after him directly. 

He raises his eyebrows as if her silence proves his point, which it absolutely does. “Will you be alone tonight or not?”

She scoffs, suddenly irritated with his presence. Who is he to ask such a personal question? Who is he to bug her apartment, to listen to what she and Reeve do after hours? “What is this? Why do I have to be alone to receive a birthday gift?”

Tseng seems irritable now, as well. It’s subtle, but Charlie has known him long enough to know when he’s angry. “I’m giving you a choice, and this is the _only_ time this choice will be offered—blissful ignorance, or the truth.”

She doesn’t really know what she’s agreeing to, but she says anyway, “The truth.”

“Then I’ll be at your apartment at nine.”

Charlie watches him go, wondering if it was wise of her to agree to whatever Tseng has planned, hoping her decision doesn’t come around to bite her in the rear. 

* * *

“You _promised!_ ”

“I did, before we were left a massive disaster to clean up in the wake of our father’s murder. The fact remains that we don’t have the budget to refund the space department, nor do we have a reason to do so, and unless you can recommend someone competent for Palmer’s job, then I’m not giving him any more power over his pathetic department than he deserves.”

Charlie is quiet for a moment, fuming in front of him, nostrils flared and her cheekbones tinted pink. 

“If you want your pilot back so much, then by all means, hire him on as a construction worker for all I care,” he says, hoping that appeases his sister, but it only serves to make her angrier. He only regrets that Tseng isn't here to take the brunt of her anger—that’s something the Turk has always been relatively good at. “We could use the help, and it would probably pay better than whoever he’s working for now. Though no guarantee he’ll be treated fairly by the director.”

“This isn’t about Cid,” she snaps, hands curled into fists at her side. “This is about making good on the promises you’ve been making since you were made vice president.”

Rufus signs his name on the paper in front of him, admiring the way the ink gleams on the bright paper. _President Rufus Shinra._ He’ll never tire of it. “Maybe in the near future we can discuss it in more detail,” he continues, with no intention of changing his mind. “But it’s a moot point now, Charlie. We have things to do today.”

“Like what?”

Rufus considers her, the sight of her looking so flustered positively endearing. He thinks she’s prettiest when she’s mad. 

“I’m taking that ridiculous statue of father down in the museum,” he sneers, and he can tell that Charlie hadn’t been expecting that. “And we’re replacing the portrait, as well. You’re very practiced at being photographed now, aren’t you? Mind you, it’s not a naked photo shoot, so you may feel slightly out of your element.”

It pleases him to see her blush heatedly. 

Those photo shoots she had done were enough to get his blood pumping— _his_ sister, showing off her tits to the entire world, even with her cunt covered in lacy lingerie, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. _His_ sister, whoring herself out to the public. Their father had been irate when the first magazines had hit shelves, sold on the street with the daily papers. 

One of the more recent magazine covers had even featured Charlie with a golden, jewel-encrusted crown upon her head and a fur-lined, velvet, crimson mantle around her shoulders, sitting upon a golden throne with her legs spread, wearing nothing but a strapless, transparent, dark-red corset and heels that would put her several inches above him. Her left hand had been held lazily between her legs to hide the more savory bits, her massive engagement ring swallowing her thin finger.

 _LONG LIVE THE QUEEN,_ the cover had read. He couldn’t believe the _audacity_. 

Tseng had actually _blushed_ when Rufus presented the cover to him, hoping that someone might wallow with him in his anger and humiliation. He had _never_ seen Tseng blush before.

That had been the first time Rufus noticed something odd, his suspicions confirmed just at the beginning of the week. It hadn’t made him feel very good, the knowledge that Charlie and Tseng might be friends outside of the company, the knowledge that there might be a separate relationship between the two of them that didn’t include _him_. 

What do they talk about while he isn’t around? Do they talk about _him?_ Do they plot against him? Do they plan their future as leaders of the Shinra Corporation? As leaders of the _world?_

Hoping that her anger has abated after sitting in silence for a few minutes to think, he continues. “Tonight, we’re supposed to meet a photographer at eight-thirty. I know it’s late, but I want this done as soon as possible—”

“I can’t make it tonight,” she interrupts him coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m meeting Tseng tonight, so he can give me my birthday gift. It’s your own fault for sending him away.”

Rufus scowls. “Why can’t he give it to you now?”

“I don’t know. I suppose he wants to keep it a secret.”

“I want to know what he got for you.”

“That’s none of your business, Rufus.”

He purses his lips. Sometimes it seems like every single thing that comes out of his mouth always ends up offending her in some way. “This weekend, I’m taking you to Junon. That’s where they’re going to hold my inauguration parade, where we’ll be participating. We’ll stay there until we receive any intelligence from the Turks about Sephiroth’s whereabouts.” He makes sure to give her a very intimidating look, in the hopes of frightening her into submission. “But make no mistake. You will have nothing to do with the hunt for Sephiroth.”

He can see the gears turning in Charlie’s brain, and then her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “I want Reeve to come with us.”

“What?” he can’t help but hiss. The idea had been to get Charlie _away_ from him for a few days. “No, he can stay here. I think he has bigger priorities than warming your bed for a few days.”

She frowns, pouting. Gods, he hates it when she pouts, just like a little girl, and completely fucking irresistible. She's a brat. It’s always been difficult denying her things, but he can’t seem weak now, not while he’s sitting in the president’s chair. 

“Be serious, Charlie. There’s no reason for Reeve to come with us, when he could be using this time to plan reconstruction efforts. It will be just the two of us. I’ll have our photographs rescheduled to tomorrow night. Does that work with your calendar, Madam Vice President?”

Charlie only frowns deeper. He’s done it again, offended her with a simple question. “Can I please go now?”

“Well,” Rufus replies, shrugging his shoulders and opening his arms wide, scoffing at her, “since you asked so politely.”

She leaves without another word, and Rufus almost feels sorry when she closes the doors behind her. 

He’ll make it up to her when they’re in Junon.

* * *

To be completely honest with himself, he had thought she was going to confess to an affair. 

Reeve isn’t entirely sure if he would have preferred an affair to . . . _that_. 

While her confession had certainly come as a shock, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. 

It would explain her jumpy behavior recently, and it would explain the crushing guilt that she’s been dwelling on. It would explain why she felt the need to go running into the Sector Seven slums while the plate was about to come crashing down. It would explain her cryptic comments alluding to something terrible now beyond her control, and the sleeping pills. 

“ _Hey, I just wanted to say I tried to catch you before your last meeting, but I guess we must have just missed each other. I’m probably going to head out for the day, so call me if you want to talk._ ” There's a long pause. “ _I love you. I wish you’d come home. I hate being away from you._ ”

He’s listened to it several times now.

It’s the only voicemail she’s left, but she had called him three others times in the afternoon, they had exchanged a few business-related e-mails in regards to damage costs, and his assistant had let him know that Charlie had asked after him an hour or so after he had left to inspect what was left of Sector Seven. 

It had taken all his strength to stay away from her, even for a few hours. Every time Reeve felt a pull towards her, just needing a small bit of comfort (her fingers curling around his bicep, a sweet smile flashed in his direction, soft lips against his forehead), he had forced himself to remember how the plate had looked from his office, falling three hundred meters to the ground to crush the people below and break the people atop. 

Is it fair to blame Charlie for it, though?

No matter what Avalanche had done, it had been President Shinra who gave the order without a single shred of sympathy towards the people who would lie dead in the aftermath. 

It had been the Turks who completed the task, without a moment’s hesitation. 

It had been Avalanche that started the whole thing, by blowing the reactors, and before that, by wreaking chaos across the city and making attempts on the late president’s life. If they hadn’t been so careless, the Sector Seven plate might still be intact, and this horrible guilt might not be weighing so heavily on his shoulders. 

He hadn’t been able to help himself. He _had_ to leave the apartment. The moment he had heard Charlie claim responsibility for the botched bombings, all he could think about was the weight of the rubble on his legs, the heat of the fire against his face, the piercing and deafening sounds of screams. 

It was overwhelming, too much to hear all at once, and the thought of hearing any _more_ was something he couldn’t bear. 

It was impossible—it couldn’t have been _his_ Charlotte. His Charlotte wouldn’t have built a mediocre bomb. He wants to believe that her intentions were pure and good, but Reeve isn’t stupid. He knows where good intentions always lead, and hadn’t he warned her something like this would happen if she wasn’t careful?

She had gone too far, and she had _lied_ about it.

 _Like I’m one to talk,_ he thinks bitterly. _If she knew what I’ve been keeping from her all these years, she would leave and never look back._

He doesn’t want to think about it, pacing the kitchenette of the cramped room he’d quickly rented at the nearest hotel. It’s not quite the upscale living situation he’s grown accustomed to, but he’s able to see the front of their apartment building from the window in the bedroom, and though it makes him feel sorry for spying, it’s not like he’s the only one doing it. 

Reeve knows, deep down, that Charlie meant well. Having been able to do as she pleased as a child has affected her, has blinded her to the weight of her actions and the consequences that follow. 

It’s a terrible excuse, considering the scope of things and considering the fact that she’s plenty old enough to realize she can’t just do whatever she wants, but he can’t deny that, even if she can be considered responsible for the plate drop, she’s the least responsible of all the people involved. 

The person _most_ responsible is dead now, and Reeve had personally watched the coffin be buried, in a plot of dry land with a marble gravestone to contrast the mass, unmarked graves that are currently being dug up outside the city. 

_Heads up!_

The words come through clearly, and upon closing his eyes, he can see the front of the building in his mind’s eye, through _Cait’s_ eyes. It gives him a headache.

A car has pulled up to the front of the complex, but when he closes his eyes to focus more clearly on it, the sight makes him sick. From the backseat of the car, Tseng steps out, brushing off the front of his suit and looking up at the apartment building for a moment. 

In one of his hands, there’s a lone flower (where did he find a flower in Midgar?), and in his other, he carries a black leather briefcase. He waits for the car to leave him before walking into the building. Won’t he need the car to wait for him? Why would he send the car away in the first place? Unless he isn’t planning on leaving?

Reeve’s eyes snap open. He shouldn’t be spying on her, he knows. She wouldn’t be happy if she knew, but he’s not happy with the situation, either. Besides, what is Tseng doing at _his_ apartment so late at night with a flower for _his_ fiancé?

The very thought is almost enough for Reeve to go back, to interrupt anything before it begins. Surely Charlie would be happy to see him. 

_Looks like Tseng is going to take your woman, too, Reeve._

Damn Scarlet for filling his head with such childish thoughts. Tseng wouldn’t dare, would never _think_ about sweeping Charlie off her feet while she was engaged. It sounds so unlike him, so horribly cruel, so horribly insolent. 

It takes him ten minutes to work up the courage to call her, just to hear her voice, just to make sure she doesn’t answer breathlessly, just to make sure that speaking to him is still a priority for her. He silently berates himself as the phone rings, berates himself for breaking so quickly, for giving into her. 

When she answers, on the sixth ring, she hardly gives him a chance to speak. “ _I’m so glad you called, but I’m in the middle of something important. Can I call you back when I’m finished?_ ”

“Um,” is all he can think to say. _She’s fucking him, she’s fucking him, she’s fucking him._ “Sure.”

“ _Okay. I love you._ ” 

She hangs up before he gets a chance to say good-bye, and doesn’t call him back the rest of the night. 

* * *

“What is this?”

Charlie lifts her eyes from the manila folder in her hands, labeled _CLASSIFIED._ She’s afraid to open it, unsure if she wants to continue reading. Perhaps she should have chosen blissful ignorance, because this definitely seems like a decision that’s going to come back to haunt her. 

Tseng looks down at the folder uncertainly, sitting stiff-backed on the sofa. “I’m under the assumption that you’ve read the official reports about what happened to Angeal?”

“Of course I have,” she replies, suddenly very nervous. Terror rips through her body, her heart quickening. “It took me hours to find it in the archives. He was killed in action, according to the report.” 

When she opens the folder, her eyes are drawn to the stiff, formal handwriting that adorns the pages and pages of paper, passages that she’s never read before, and other paperwork that isn’t handwritten, information on something that’s called _Project G_. It looks ancient, or near enough, the lettering fading. 

“What is this?” she asks again, thumbing through it all, her heart leaping in her throat.

He eyes her warily. “The truth, like I promised you.”

 _I should have chosen ignorance,_ she thinks. _I don’t want to know this. Whatever it is, I don’t want to_ —

“It’s all right, Charlotte.” Tseng touches the file she’s holding to keep it from moving. She hadn’t realized that she was shaking so badly. “The report is one I wrote myself, when I had returned from an assignment that sent me to Modeoheim. You remember, don’t you?”

She pauses, lifting her eyes to look into his face. “Yes. You were gone for a week longer than you said you would be.”

“And all these years later, you’re still holding it against me?”

His attempt at lightening the mood doesn’t do much for her. Charlie looks back down at the report that’s written in his handwriting, picking out Angeal’s name among the other words. 

“The initial report was presented to my superior at the time, Veld, with Lazard having disappeared, so it wasn’t general knowledge, but several changes were made to the official copy before it was placed in the archives.”

She remembers the abduction-slash-disappearance of Lazard, a man who had been unfailingly kind to her and never complained much of her loitering around the training rooms, watching his SOLDIERs at play. He had been just as kind whenever Charlie took to pestering him after Angeal disappeared, always begging for whatever scraps of information Lazard was willing to throw her. 

She had even tried to flirt with him once, an effort that made Lazard laugh warmly before spurning her advances.

“You knew this whole time,” she breathes, slightly dizzy, like she’s drunk a whole bottle of wine. Does she want to know? Does she _really_ want to know? “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you lie to me? I cried for _months_ over him.”

“I did not think it was my place to tell you.”

Charlie stares at him, shaking her head. “Who else should it have been?” 

He doesn’t answer, but doesn’t look very abashed about his decision, either. 

“Why are you doing this now?”

“Because, frankly, I have felt, ever since assuming Veld’s position, that you were the most deserving of the truth that I had deliberately concealed from you,” he answers, looking too at ease on her sofa. It’s not like he should be as surprised as she is—he’s known this information for years, harbored this secret close to his heart despite the amount of times he could have confessed. “And I may not have another chance.”

She closes the folder, unsure if she can continue. She’ll just have to leave it with the unread letters from her father that she’s been too frightened to look at, afraid they might drag up unwanted memories and feelings. 

“If it’s . . . any consolation to you,” he says again, and this time, he seems a bit more uncomfortable with where the conversation is going, “he liked you very much.”

Charlie tenses. “So did I.” Eager for a chance alone to catch her breath, she stands. “Wait here. I have something I want to show you.”

Charlie hurries to her office, where she places the file onto her desk and picks up the box Reeve had brought home a few days ago. She still hasn’t opened it, but now that Tseng is here, and knowing that there’s a chance he might not come back from his assignment, she brings it back out to her living room. 

It almost feels like she’s a teenager again, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tseng and talking and talking and talking while he lets her. He had always been good at letting her talk to her heart’s content, unlike some Turks that wished only for her to shut up. Those Turks never usually lasted very long. 

Even Tseng chuckles lightly at the picture of Angeal she pulls out of the box, smiling in an almost proud sort of way, dark hair tucked behind his ears and his pretty mako eyes bright, a beautiful mountain range in the background. 

“He sent this home once, when he’d been away for weeks,” she chuckles, brushing a thumb over his face. “It’s all I have left of him now. That, and a letter where he actually admitted he missed me.”

Charlie had really, genuinely liked him—she liked the way his thick muscles worked while he swung his sword around, even with another one his back, and she liked the way he could go from stoic to charming to playful in a matter of seconds. She liked the way he introduced her properly to his friends, and the way he fearlessly chastised Sephiroth for teasing them about spending time together. 

She hopes whatever Tseng has brought for her can at least give her some closure. 

“Look,” she says, reaching for another picture when she finishes admiring the one of Angeal, picking up one of she and Tseng, the picture that had infuriated Rufus so much. “Do you remember that?”

Tseng nods, looking down at the picture. Charlie remembers, too. It had been a difficult period in her life, lonely and heartbroken, and there had been a few weeks after Angeal’s disappearance (or death, depending on what’s in the file) that she and Tseng spent far more time together than ever before.

It had been weeks of catching each other looking for a little too long, fingers accidentally brushing while watching television together, meals taken in complete silence while unsaid things stayed stagnant between them. It had been lingering touches when she needed help putting a necklace on, fingertips at the nape of her neck, brushing her hair aside with an intimacy unexpected from him. 

No one else had cared enough about Angeal’s uncertain end to comfort her. Rufus didn’t give a damn about the SOLDIER unless he was within three feet of Charlie, and Reeve had always been jealous, for as long as Charlie can remember.

Charlie gives him a sideways look, lowering the picture back into the box and putting the lid back on. “How long will you be gone?”

“I wish I had an answer for you.” When he looks up at her again, he smiles slightly. “Don’t cry.”

She can’t help it. She’s watched the Turks be picked off one by one over the years, an ever-revolving door until there were none left but Tseng, Reno, Rude, and Elena. The only constants throughout her entire life have been Rufus and the Turks, and Charlie isn’t quite sure how much more loss she’ll be able to take. 

Everything had been fine, and over the course of _two weeks_ , her entire life feels like it’s been flipped upside-down. 

“You _promised_ Veld you would stay with me,” she rasps, not wanting to think about him, not wanting to think about he had abandoned her, how he had left without reason, how he had disappeared without even coming to say good-bye to her. “You promised _me_ you wouldn’t leave like all the others.”

“That was a long time ago, under a very different set of circumstances.”

Tseng leaves her shortly afterwards, offering her little comfort. Everything is so dependent on finding Sephiroth that there are no answers to be given, and after witnessing the strength of Sephiroth, she can’t help but worry about the closest thing to a real family she’s ever really known, even if they’re not the good guys she wants to believe they are.

Charlie watches from the window as Tseng waits out front for a car, his phone held up to his ear. It had been sweet of him to come by with a horrible truth and a flower he claimed had been growing in a church under the plate. 

The thought of never seeing him again hits her as suddenly as a freight train, and Charlie runs out of her apartment barefoot and in her pajamas, pressing the lobby button of the elevator several times, unable to move quickly enough. 

But when she pushes through the wide double doors of the apartment building, Tseng is still there, his car pulling up to the curb. “Wait!” she shouts, and he glances over his shoulder just in time as Charlie throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck to hug him for, as far as she can recall, the first time. 

She had not had the luxury of saying good-bye to Veld. She hadn’t gotten to say good-bye to Angeal or to her own father. To not take the opportunity now, to not say a proper good-bye to Tseng . . . it wouldn’t sit well with her if she just let him leave.

To her surprise, his arms come slowly to wrap around her middle, and she buries her face in the crook of his warm neck. 

“Tell Rude I said good-bye, okay?” she cries, trying to keep from sobbing against him. “Tell him I said thank you.”

“You can tell him yourself when we return,” he murmurs, releasing her to hold her out at arm’s length, inspecting her almost critically. His skin shines slightly underneath the yellow street light, where her tears had smeared on his neck. “I still owe you a birthday dinner. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

There’s nothing she can do. Nothing she says will change his mind, nothing she says will change anything, and no amount of appealing to Rufus will change it, either. “Okay,” she’s forced to say, watching Tseng get in the back of the car. 

She watches the car drive away, her arms held around herself in the chill winter air, helpless—as helpless as she had felt when Veld left, as helpless as she had felt when Angeal left, and as helpless as she had felt when she watched Sephiroth drive his sword through her father’s back. 

It’s all she can do to hope that the same fate does not await Tseng.


	27. Chapter 27

“‘ _. . . and once again, he came upon the tower, and the beautiful young princess shouted down to him: “Help! Help me down and I promise to give you all the riches in the world!” But the man kept riding, remembering his promise to the old crone, spurning his soft golden chocobo onward until the princess’s cries faded away_.’”

The chair rocks back and forth. The illustration of the princess looks like her, with pale skin and blonde hair. “ _He should have helped the princess._ ”

“ _You think so?_ _You don’t think he should have kept his promise?_ ”

“ _She was probably just lonely._ ”

“ _Maybe._ ” Carried from his lap to bed with two strong arms, blankets pulled up to her chin, a kiss on her forehead, and the clicking of her lamp being turned off. “ _Good-night, little princess._ ”

“ _Is daddy going to take me home soon?_ ”

A long pause. “ _Be patient. It won’t be much longer now._ ” Three weeks. It’s been three weeks. Pressure on the bed, calloused fingers brushing her hair out of her face. “ _I thought you liked the beach._ ”

“ _I do, but I miss Midgar._ _Can I sleep with you tonight?_ ”

“ _Not tonight. You’re getting too old for that, and it’s way past your bedtime, little one. You need your rest. We’re going to be at the beach all day tomorrow, tiring you out._ ”

“ _Can we get ice cream again?_ ”

“ _Let me guess . . . double chocolate with chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles?_ ”

Childish giggles escape her lips, looking up into a scarred and rugged face. “ _Will you lay down with me for a little? I’m not tired yet. I want one more story._ ”

Another long pause and a sigh. The mattress groans. Lying on his side to face her, his own eyes closed, her little girl’s forehead pressed against his and her hands on his cheeks, giggling into his face. His beard is scratchy against her hands.

“ _No more stories. You’ve just had three. Close your eyes. You need to go to sleep now._ ”

“ _I’m not tired, Veld._ ”

“ _Then how about I lay here until you go to sleep?_ ”

“ _Okay. Good-night. I love you._ ” 

She tosses and turns, moaning softly as she finds herself trapped in that same sort of limbo she’d found herself in at Costa del Sol, when she had been dreaming of Mother. Had that actually happened, or did she only dream it? Had it only been the way she _wished_ it happened?

“ _Excuse me. You’re Miss Shinra, right?_ ”

A smile on his face, a hand extended towards her. The entire floor shakes beneath her as gunfire rings throughout the building. “ _Charlie._ ”

“ _Well then, Charlie, I think we should get going, don’t you?_ ”

“ _Where’s Tseng?_ ”

“ _Indisposed. Veld sent me instead._ ”

A shaky hand reaching out to clasp his own, pulling her to her feet with ease. His arms are thick with muscle, the beginnings of a beard growing on his chin. “ _You’re a SOLDIER._ ”

Another smile. “ _Was it the uniform, the eyes, or the sword on my back that gave it away?_ ” The eyes, always the eyes, as blue as the sky, his hand curled around hers, warm. “ _Stay close to me. I’ll get you home safe._ ”

“ _How will I ever thank you?_ ”

“ _Oh, I don’t need your thanks. But if you really want to give me thanks, maybe you could save it until we’re somewhere safe._ ”

No, no, no, no, no, she can’t dream of him, she won’t dream of him, her perfect SOLDIER that had been nothing but a monster, nothing but one of Hollander’s experiments. And yet, in all the time she’d known him, he never seemed like a monster . . .

“ _Charlie, you’ll get in trouble._ ”

“ _It’s all right. Veld’s sleeping now, and I missed you._ ”

Mouths open wide, curious, tongues exploratory, the thrill of knowing they shouldn’t. They’ve both gotten better with practice, but he is still greedy, always wanting. It doesn’t count when it’s your brother. She’ll never admit it. No one can ever know. 

She can make his hips jerk upwards when she moves just right. The feeling is foreign, but she likes it. He’s powerless here, in the dark. 

How old are they? Ten and eight? No, that’s not right. They’re older. Too old. Too old to claim it’s completely innocent. Too old to say they didn’t realize what they were doing. It’s better to forget, to take what she came for, to give him what he wants, and then forget. 

Arms encircling her waist, trapping her against his lap. Sometimes he moves an inch and her entire body seems to throb like a giant heart. His pants are wet when they finish their play and she’s left breathless. 

“ _I’ll beat you bloody, boy!_ ”

A fat hand around her brother’s throat, slamming him onto the ground, all for the sole crime of loving her.

“ _Daddy, stop! Leave him alone! Please, stop it!_ ”

The smooth sound of a leather belt being pulled from his belt loops. “ _You’ll be next, girl, if you don’t shut up!_ ”

“ _Don’t hurt him!_ ”

_CRACK!_

Charlie’s eyes snap open to pitch darkness. There’s cold sweat all over her body, soaking the mattress, her heart racing. Instinctively, she reaches out for Reeve, only to remember too late that he’s not in bed with her. That realization shatters her heart.

She shouldn’t have gone through all the classified information Tseng brought her. She shouldn’t have read the letters from her father. She should have waited until someone could be with her, to keep her grounded towards the end, to remind her that her father is somewhere he’ll never be able to hurt her or Rufus again. 

Her sudden waking seems to have startled Cat, who saunters over to the cracked bedroom door. The images she’d been dreaming of are already beginning to fade. Sometimes it’s hard to remember Veld’s face anymore, but after looking at the picture of the two of them from about twenty years ago, she’d nearly had a panic attack. 

She should have asked Tseng about what happened to him.

She might never know now.

* * *

“This isn’t the number you gave me yesterday.”

“No, it’s not. The number I gave you yesterday was an approximation for rebuilding the plate. This number is including rehiring staff that we lost in the employee district, raises for the current employees, construction materials, the expressway repairs, housing costs for survivors, et cetera.”

Charlie heaves a great sigh from Rufus’s right, closing the proposal that Reeve had given them both before the presentation started, just the three of them. “This is millions of gil over budget,” she says, and Rufus can’t say he isn’t impressed with her ability to put her own boyfriend in his place. “Where do you expect us to find all of this money? We’ve already allocated half a billion gil from other departments, and you’re telling us that _still_ isn’t enough?”

Rufus leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. He watches Reeve’s jaw clench tightly for a moment, exhaling through his nose, never taking his eyes off Charlie. “If we want to avoid another disaster, then we need the money to make certain structural changes—”

“We didn’t ask for you to change the structure of the entire city, we asked you to rebuild the plate,” Charlie snaps, causing Reeve’s cheeks to turn slightly pink. “And with our father dead, it’s safe to say we don’t have to be concerned about another sector collapsing.” She flips through the proposal again, huffing irritably. “While I appreciate that you’re only trying to be generous to your hardworking employees, I have a hard time believing _any_ of your employees deserve a ten percent raise, let alone all of them.”

“Given the circumstances, I think it only appropriate to keep them happy,” Reeve protests weakly, hands held behind his back as he stands at the other end of the conference table, beside a screen where his finished presentation still shows. 

“If they’re unhappy with their pay, then they’re more than welcome to find another job with another company,” she answers, raising her eyebrows as if putting an end to it. “We’ll just hire workers who are willing to work for a more appropriate salary.”

Charlie and Reeve look at each other for a long time, and Rufus starts to feel as if he’s intruding on something very private. It’s odd to see them _not_ giving each other bedroom eyes across a room, but it does give him a vindictive sort of pleasure to hear his sister openly chastise Reeve, something she’s always refused to do in the past. 

She sighs again, looking sideways at Rufus as if seeking approval, but he wants to see how this is going to play out, so he gives her a slight nod, urging her to continue. Charlie smiles weakly at him, but it vanishes the moment she turns to look at Reeve again.

“I can give you fifty million gil, but that’s it, unless you have a damn good reason for wanting more.”

Reeve’s mouth twitches, and he inclines his head to her. “Thank you. Fifty million will be plenty.” He gathers up his things and leaves them be, without so much as a good-bye or a last lingering look at Charlie.

Rufus turns in his chair again to face his sister, chewing distractedly on the end of his pen, trying his hardest to look positively smug. It must work, because he recognizes the exasperated look Charlie gives him, running a hand through her hair. 

“Are you two fighting?” he asks bluntly. 

Charlie and Reeve have _never_ fought in all the years they’ve known each other, so long as he can recall, and he can’t remember seeing them interact so coldly with each other. He supposes there was that one time, over Reeve’s decision to shut down the space department, but Charlie had gone back to him so quickly, it hadn’t even seemed to matter.

“It’s none of your business,” she hisses at him, closing the proposal and getting to her feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have fifty million more gil to take from Scarlet’s department.”

Rufus reaches out, lightning fast, to grab her wrist, fingers wrapping tight around it. “Hold on. Are you mad at me?” he asks again, this time a bit more sincerely. 

For a moment, he thinks she isn’t going to talk, but she surprises him. “Why did you send Tseng away?”

So caught off guard by her question, and the bitter way that she asks it, it takes him a moment to scoff. “I thought you hated the Turks, sister. What does it matter where Tseng goes?”

Charlie purses her lips, her cheeks coloring. “Why did you do that, Rufus?”

“I sent him on an important assignment. Surely you know by now that holding your hand through life isn’t his actual job?” He lets go of her wrist, amazed that she’s so upset about this. A laugh escapes him, but it’s a mistake, and he realizes it too late. “What was I supposed to do, Charlie? Let Sephiroth get away? He’s not even supposed to be _alive_.”

She looks on the verge of tears, and it worries him. Rufus gets to his own feet, holding her arms gently. His eyebrows furrow, and it doesn’t escape his notice that she has a very hard time meeting his eyes. 

“Charlie, what’s going on with you?”

Her eyes snap up to meet his own with an almost terrifying intensity. “Did you know about Angeal?”

“What are you talking about? Of course I knew about Angeal. You couldn’t get enough of him, could you?”

She gives her head a slight shake. There are shadows under her eyes, and she isn’t wearing as much makeup as she normally does. That doesn’t bother him so much—he thinks she’s prettier without all of that paint smeared across her face. “Did you know what our company did to him? Did you know what _Hollander_ did to him?” she asks again, eyes filling with tears. “Did you know what he was? Did you know what happened to him? Did you know the truth all this time?”

Rufus hesitates, lowering his hands from her arms. He hadn’t known, truthfully, until recently, when he had been combing through the many classified files that their father had kept from even his own children. 

Though he understands why Charlie wouldn’t be allowed access to some of them. He doesn’t like to admit it, but there had been several things that made his stomach churn upon discovering them, and he’s sure there are many other secrets still waiting to be discovered.

“Listen,” he whispers, taking his sister’s face in her hands, “in a few days, we’ll be on our way to Junon, and a parade is just the thing you need, I think.” He swipes his thumbs over her cheekbones, kissing her forehead. “It’s no use dwelling on things that we can’t change. We need to apply ourselves to bettering Shinra in the near future, and with you by my side, sweet sister, I believe anything is possible.”

He mentally gives himself a pat on the back for such a touching little speech. It even seems to cheer her slightly, and while Rufus is desperate to ask about the odd little show she and Reeve just put on, he decides maybe it’s best to ask another time, when she isn’t lost in thought about her perfect little Project G SOLDIER.

And yet, even as they sit for their photograph later that night, Charlie still doesn’t seem completely better. She poses well enough, scowling when the photographer touches her without permission, wearing a beautiful green dress that he had picked himself, along with a string of genuine pearls around her neck, just like Mother used to wear.

Whatever the portrait turns out like, it has to be better than a portrait with Father in it, he supposes. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rufus hisses as the flash on the camera nearly blinds him. 

She sits awkwardly on the floor by his feet, one hand on his knee and her cheek against his thigh, her dress hiding her legs and feet from sight. He almost moves his own hand to tangle his fingers in her hair, to jerk her face up to look at him, but remembers where he is. Only when the photographer gives them a thumbs-up and goes to get Charlie’s other dress does she speak.

“You forgot my birthday,” she says. “My birthday is today, and you forgot.”

_Fuck_ , he thinks. It’s not like he’s had much time to dwell on Charlie’s birthday, and with everything that’s been going on lately, it slipped his mind a little too easily. “Let me take you out for dinner tonight,” he offers.

“I’m not hungry, and I don’t want a pity date.”

A low growl sounds from the back of his throat. “Then let me take you to Sector Eight for some shopping. You can have anything you want, anything at all.”

“No.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Rufus’s hand jumps to her hair, gripping tight at the nape of her neck and pulling hard. She cries out breathily, face contorting with pain for a moment, but she meets his gaze regardless, lips tight. “Who do you think you are, saying _no_ to me?”

“Let go of me,” she snarls through gritted teeth. 

He puts his face close to hers, so close that their noses are just about touching. Charlie doesn’t falter, but when he gives her hair a sharp tug again, she whimpers. “You don’t give _me_ commands, Charlotte,” he tells her, rage boiling in his chest. She’s grown bold and insolent, no doubt from all the time she’s spent with her director. “You do as I say, and you keep your mouth shut while doing it.”

“I will _not_ ,” she breathes, only half-confident about it. Her voice is shaky, but her face is stony, slightly flushed. “You don’t own me, Rufus. I’m not _yours_.”

Anyone else in the world and he’d have them shot dead on the spot, likely doing it himself without any hesitation. But Charlie isn’t just anyone. He curses himself for his weakness. 

The photographer comes back sooner than Rufus expects, and he pulls away from his sister quickly, catching sight of the dress he’s brought out for Charlie to put on. “Are you blind?” he snaps, needing to take his anger out on _someone_. “She can’t wear orange. Go get something else.”

When he turns back around to face Charlie, she has her back to him, her arms wrapped around herself. 

He does feel sorry, really. He’s never once forgotten her birthday before, always giving her something expensive and rare that no one else could give her, or taking her on a vacation somewhere on the western continent, far away from Midgar. Charlie has never failed to give him something thoughtful on his own birthdays, though perhaps part of the reason he remembers them all so well is because no one else thinks to give him gifts half the time.

“What’s going on with you and Reeve?” he asks, unable to keep quiet for any longer. His heart almost skips with anticipation, with a buzzing and fervent excitement at the prospect of a rift between his sister and the man she claims to love. 

“Nothing,” she insists, turning her head slightly to look at him. “You’ve just been overworking him, that’s all.”

Rufus glances over his shoulder, making sure they’re still alone. “Charlie, I’m sorry about forgetting your birthday, all right?”

Finally, Charlie turns around, and there’s a small smile on her face again. He watches her take a few steps forward, of a height with him in her shoes. 

“And I’m sorry about Tseng. That wasn’t done with any intent to hurt you.”

When she reaches up with a hand, Rufus flinches instinctively, but allows her to touch his cheek, brushing some hair out of his face. He almost nuzzles into her palm, a loving touch he hasn’t felt in years.

“President Shinra,” she murmurs, “apologizing to _me_.”

He snorts. “Don’t get used to it.”

Charlie lowers her hand from his face. “Can we be done with this now?” 

Rufus laughs breathily. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

“Oh, you poor thing. Here, let’s get you something to eat.”

Charlotte’s forgotten to feed Cat his dinner again. Sometimes he feels rather betrayed that Cat tends to be more affectionate with Charlie, the one who typically forgets to leave food out for him, but he supposes even cats aren’t immune to her charm. Reeve had been able to hear the damned thing mewling from outside the door to their apartment, and all the lights had still been off when he let himself in.

Once Cat is content with his long overdue dinner, Reeve makes for the bedroom. The bed is unmade and half of it is covered with outfits still on hangars, laid out as if she’d considered them all this morning. He wouldn’t put it past her. It takes her a long time to get ready for anything, always slow-moving and indecisive, oftentimes deferring to his own judgement. 

He pulls the box out of the inner pocket of his coat. He’s never been good at giving gifts, but he knows Charlie’s taste, and she always seems happy enough to receive just about anything from him. 

Before he places it on the bed, he hesitates. She might not even notice, and the last thing he wants is for Charlie to think he’s forgotten her birthday. He feels bad for being so short and curt with her earlier, but it’s for his own benefit, not hers. 

Three days it’s been since he had walked out of the apartment, and it feels like three long years. Being apart from her is torture, an empty feeling settling in his chest after years of having her at his side. 

It’s not that Reeve doesn’t want to come home. He desperately, _desperately_ wants to come home, to lie down in bed with her and feel her curl up against his chest, pressing kisses to his skin come morning. 

But doing that would be admitting defeat, admitting that he can’t stay away from her despite what she’s done. In all honesty, she could shoot a man down right in front of him and he might still try to get back to her, no matter what. 

It’s too easy for him to forgive her for things, most of them well-intentioned and relatively harmless, and if she were to walk through the front door right now to find him standing in their bedroom, Reeve would most likely beg her forgiveness and let all be forgotten if it meant things could return to normal.

He’s never had the courage to truly stand up to her, and why should that change now?

What is normal, anyway? Will there ever be a normal again, with Charlie as vice president and her possessive, irritatingly arrogant brother as president? Did he ever truly believe that Charlie would rise to power so quickly, if at all? 

Sometimes, without her even realizing it, Charlie has the power to make him feel so damn _small_ , to make him feel so damn _inadequate_. Despite all of her praise for him in the bedroom, he can’t help but feel insignificant and unimportant in her life, but it’s not as if he’s ever forgotten who she was—a Shinra, the president’s daughter (and now the new president’s sister). 

If Charlie had been sleeping with Tseng, she’s left behind no evidence that the Turk had even set foot in their apartment. Perhaps it had been unfair of Reeve to assume that was the nature of their meeting so late. Upon learning that the Turks had been dispatched on a top secret assignment only this morning, he couldn’t help the guilt pooling in his stomach.

She had only wanted to say good-bye, he supposes, before she didn’t have the chance. Reeve can understand her desire for that much, at least. 

And perhaps their casual intimacy isn’t something to be concerned about. Reeve has never witnessed Tseng do anything that would be cause for concern, despite the Turk’s undeniable professionalism in front of Rufus. All it proves is that they’re comfortable with each other, that Charlie trusts him, and how could they not, after spending so much of their lives together? 

It hardly surprises Reeve—Charlie has always been far more charming and personable than her brother, always insisting on being called anything but “Miss Shinra” by the people she cares about. Titles don’t mean half so much to her as they do to her brother.

With the jewelry box held tight in his hand, Reeve wanders back out of the bedroom and into Charlie’s office. Upon brightening the room, he finds the flower Tseng had brought her, and several things scattered on her desk. 

Hesitating in the threshold, his heart begins to leap into his throat. He has no idea when Charlie will be returning, as he has no idea what she’s up to right now at all. All he knows is that he shouldn’t look, he shouldn't go through her things. The last time he did, he had filled his own head with horrible images and worries, and it left him feeling sick.

It’s like he can’t even stop himself, moving to her desk and examining everything in sight, pocketing the box to use both of his hands. 

There’s a file with the words CLASSIFIED stamped in read across the top. When he opens it, he finds a handwritten report dated some years back with Tseng’s name signed at the very bottom, and with it is a summary of what Project G was. 

It must be what Tseng had brought for her, and Reeve only wishes he had said something sooner to Charlie, or at least wishes that he could have been here while she learned the truth about Angeal and his friends.

Charlie seems to have been digging through the box he’d found at her father’s family home, as well, as the pictures and letters inside are all mixed up. The photograph of she and Veld is sitting on top, and Reeve closes it so he doesn’t have to look any longer. He still doesn’t know how much Charlie knows about Veld, and he’s too afraid to ask her, afraid that she’ll start asking questions he doesn’t feel comfortable asking. 

There’s another box, too, one that he doesn’t recall ever seeing before. Trying to remind himself what happened the last time he went through her sentimental possessions, Reeve opens the box anyway, his decision immediately being thrown in his face. 

Having been so distracted by the picture of Charlie and Tseng the first time around, Reeve hadn’t really thought to wonder why she hadn’t kept anything that reminded her of Cid. But now he knows, and he rather wishes he didn’t. 

The second box isn’t quite as full as the first, but there are a few photographs thrown inside of Charlie and Cid at base camp, Charlie and Cid at the hangar in Junon, Charlie and Cid at Headquarters in Midgar. She’s smiling in every single of them, and so is Cid, his arm often thrown over her shoulders or a hand on her waist. 

Reeve picks up one of the pictures to inspect it closer, a fire lit in his chest. Cid has a cigarette in one hand, the other hand hidden behind her back. Charlie has a thermos in her hand, and they’re standing in front of what would, presumably, become their main base camp.

Bitterly, he tosses the picture back into the box, and it lands facedown, revealing some nearly illegible writing. 

_Lottie,_

_To the moon and back_

Reeve forces himself to close the box again, his pulse pounding in his ears. The mere thought of that pilot is enough to get him worked up to the point of near uncontrollable anger, when he thinks about that pilot touching her, smiling at her, flirting crudely with her in front of dozens of people, the way Charlie had watched him so subtly when he’d take his shirt off (in the hopes of drawing a reaction from her, Reeve is sure).

When he thinks about how she had been feeling after the failed rocket launch . . . he hadn’t thought she was grieving the loss of whatever relationship had begun between Charlie and the captain. 

Had she been thinking of Cid when Reeve guided her awkwardly through her first time? Had she been thinking of Cid when she initially kissed him?

_No_ , he thinks. _She’s always loved you. She’s told you so. She’s told you that she loved you from the beginning._

It’s only then does he notice the old and clearly aged envelope on her desk, as well, labeled “Char”. He can think of only one person who calls her that, a person who will never call her that again now. 

There are five letters inside, all of them clearly unfinished, all of them written in the same handwriting, all of them unsigned, but Reeve knows who they’re from. Charlie might genuinely kill him if she finds out he’s read through them, but he gets the sense that she’ll never show him these letters on her own. 

_Char,_

_I know you hate that name. I know you style yourself as ‘Charlie’, just like the man I named you after. My great-uncle Charles, known as Char, but Charlie to me. He was funny, like you. I know I’m hard on you, but you were never like your brother. Rufus possessed a certain ruthlessness from the start, but not you. You were always sweet. You may not believe me, but I was only hard on you because I wanted you to succeed, to grow, to learn._

Reeve blinks down at the letter, hardly able to believe what he’s reading. But it’s piqued his curiosity and, against his better judgement, he picks up the next letter. 

_Char,_

_I remember the first time I held you and looked into your beautiful face, peeked into your half opened right eye. You wrinkled your nose, as much as you could, took a tiny little breath and went right to sleep. I like to think you felt safe and secure in your new surroundings._

_Although you were entirely unaware of it, your little hand held the finger with which you already had me wrapped around. I knew it would not be long before you would be standing before me saying, “daddy, I need a favor” and I would say “yes, of course you can have what you want.”_

He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. Has Charlie read these already? These can’t be the real thoughts of her father, the father who had beaten her mercilessly, the father who had denied her the vice presidency despite her being older. How had she even gotten hold of something so personal? 

_Char,_

_I must confess to a great degree of anxiety, angst, worry, and even sorrow. You were, as a little girl, the epitome of innocence, purity, honesty, and all things good. You were not mean-spirited or possessed of prejudices. Your emotional cradle was of love, laughter, and charity. How I wished it would last._

_But alas, too soon you were confronted by those things that temper the goodness of life: conflict, confrontation, hatred, and influences that attempted to taint your view of life. My obligation, as a father, was to protect you as much as possible and demonstrate the goodness of life._

_Here, I feel I have failed you._

His heart is racing, and the letters aren’t even for him. Whoever wrote these letters, it surely couldn’t have been her father, President Shinra. He scrambles for the fourth letter, his hands shaking slightly.

_Char,_

_The world in which you were born was, and continues to be, in terrible shape. By being brought into this world, you had been done a contemptible disservice, and it seemed unfair to present you with such burdens of divisiveness; injustice, intolerance, and a lack of respect for life._

_I remember looking into your hours old face, however, and feeling a sense of peace and hope. Your spirituality, your already “presence”_ — _the little inhale and exhales of your breath_ — _the perfectness of your being, had made me feel things I never knew possible. My only daughter._

It’s almost touching. If Reeve didn’t know who had written these letters, he might find himself more touched. His eyes are stinging with tears, tears that he cries for his Charlotte, who had to read through these by herself, to learn that, underneath her father’s cruelty, there had been love for her buried deep. 

The last letter is the longest, with several sentences and words scratched out.

_Charlie,_

_No doubt you saw it as a slight when I decided to make your brother my vice president. So be it. Blame me, if it makes you feel better. Be angry with me, hate me, if it makes you happy. I know that I have earned your hatred._

_I did not make your brother my vice president because you did wrong. I made your brother my vice president because I was afraid of what it would make you become. I could not even begin to imagine a girl so sweet sitting in my seat. There is so much I have had kept from you in an attempt to retain your goodness, your purity, even though I see your innocence cracking every time you stand before me._

_When I remember you as a little girl, eager to curl up in my lap the moment I came home despite my previous behavior, with no knowledge of the things I had done just hours before in the office, I couldn’t believe you were my daughter. You were always your mother’s, I thought. Perhaps that’s why you look so much like me, a small victory for myself._

_You are so witty and clever and intelligent, and when it became clear that you were a genius, I was so proud that I sent a company wide e-mail to let everyone else know, as well. I have a feeling you think I think you are the very opposite._

_I don’t know why I’ve never told you this. Maybe it’s better to keep your hatred solely focused on me instead of the world around you. You are so hard to talk to sometimes, so stubborn and grown up, but I do_

The letter ends abruptly, and it takes Reeve a minute to comprehend what he’s just written. If he’s disappointed with the ending of it, he can’t imagine what Charlie might have been thinking.

He puts everything back the way it was, deciding, in the end, to leave her gift on her pillow, but he doesn’t leave right away. 

Pulling out his phone, he quickly dials Charlie’s number almost out of habit, hoping that she’ll answer. Maybe he’s been too hard on her. She’s been too hard on her _self_. After all, she had just watched her father die. How could he just leave her after something like that?

“ _Reeve,_ ” Charlie says breathily, and the sound of her voice right now is so sweet she could cry. “ _Are you all right?_ ”

“I’m fine. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“ _I’ve got about ten minutes. Rufus wants to have another portrait replace the one in the museum, so we’re having our pictures taken. We’re almost finished._ ”

He smiles a small smile, lifting his eyes to the mirror above their dresser. “I just wanted to say happy birthday,” he says, dragging his fingers through his hair. 

“ _Thanks,_ ” she replies, and it sounds like she’s smiling. “ _Are you going to come home tonight?_ ”

Reeve looks at himself in the mirror as he thinks. How long is he really going to be able to keep this up? He had acted just like a coward, running away to save his dignity, to make himself look good to no one at all in particular. He hadn’t wanted to be associated with the bombings, with the plate fall, but working at Shinra, he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly outrun that guilt. 

“ _Well . . . if you aren’t going to come home tonight_ ,” she continues after a long silence, clearly disappointed, “ _I have to ask you to take care of Cat for a little. I’m leaving for Junon in two days, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back._ ”

He decides not to bring up the fact that she forgot to feed Cat _tonight_. “What’s in Junon?”

“ _Rufus’s inauguration parade._ ” Charlie sighs heavily on the other line, and he can hear some murmurs in the background, a voice that sounds like her brother’s. “ _Reeve, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I hate this, fighting with you. I just want you to come home._ ”

He checks his watch. It’s going on nine already. He hadn’t realized how late it was when he left Headquarters. “Are you hungry? I haven’t had dinner yet. I’m sure there’s room for the vice president at any restaurant she so chooses, especially on her birthday.”

Part of him wishes he could see her face right now, chewing on her bottom lip, stifling a smile. He knows her face so well that he can picture it clearly in his mind, a spattering of light freckles on the bridge of her nose that looks so cute when she scrunches it. 

“ _I don’t really want to go out. Let’s have dinner at home._ _I’m just finishing up, and I’ll meet you there, okay?_ ”

“Yeah,” he says, ashamed that he’s caved so easily. “Okay.”

* * *

This is how it should be.

Charlie is on her side, wearing only her engagement ring and the bracelet he had bought for her birthday, propped up on an elbow with her blonde hair tossed over to one side, slightly curled after having it in some complicated little braid and from the thorough fucking he’d given her only a short while ago. 

It had been good to regain some control again, to have some small shred of power over her that doesn’t extend outside of their bedroom. That’s how she’s always been, submissive and childish and eager to please, just like it had been the first time with her. 

It feels good to draw something that isn’t a draft for a new section of the city, too. 

His hand hesitates above the paper when he reaches her midsection, eyes lingering for a little too long on a place that doesn’t escape her notice. 

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” she teases, raising her eyebrows at him. “Would you like a closer look?”

“Don’t move,” Reeve reminds her gently, smiling at her before returning to his work. 

He wants to ask her about the letters, about her father, about how she’s feeling about everything. He wants to talk about her involvement with Avalanche, but he knows how it will go already. The topic will never be brought up again, suppressed and ignored to keep each other happy, preferring to pretend nothing ever happened to keep up the image of a happy soon-to-be-wed couple.

And he _is_ happy, for a certainty, in spite of everything he’s found out about her, but he’s not so certain that Charlie is as happy as she lets on.


	28. Chapter 28

“I have a place for us to stay the night, an apartment in Upper Junon. We’ll participate in the parade, and take a ship to Costa del Sol in the meantime. If you don’t want me to sell the villa, you had best make good use of it, Charlie.” 

“I plan to,” she says with a small smile, sitting atop the president’s desk and examining her fingernails critically, the polish chipping. She’ll have to fix that before the parade tomorrow. “I want Reeve to come with us.”

“I’ve told you already, Charlie, he’s not coming,” Rufus answers, a little sharply. “He has better things to do than spend days cooped up with you in the villa, locked in your bedroom. Honestly, the way you _treat_ that place . . . you might take a little more care as to how people might perceive you.”

“Oh?” She raises her eyebrows, looking down at her brother, one of her legs extended to rest her foot in his lap. One wrong move from him, and all she would have to do is dig the sharp heel of her shoe into the front of his pants. “And is that your professional opinion, Mr. President?”

Rufus lifts his eyes from the computer screen to his sister upon being addressed as such. “The villa isn’t meant to be a whorehouse, sister.”

“ _I’m_ not the one parading about with whores, thank you very much. I’ve done the mature thing and settled down.” 

He considers her for a moment, finally coming to rest his palm upon her exposed shin, the warmth from his hand hot against her skin, even through the sheer tights that she wears underneath her dress. His thumb brushes back and forth against her leg in an almost distracted way. 

“I’ll not say it again. Reeve stays here,” he tells her, and his tone is cold. “There’s no reason he needs to be with us, and I still don’t understand why you feel the need to humor him with this marriage. What’s in it for you, anyway?”

“Well, he’s got a lot of money. I like that in a man.”

Rufus’s eyes flash with anger. “Be serious.”

“I _am_ being serious. Like him or not, I’m still going to marry him,” she counters, attempting to pull her leg from Rufus’s lap, but his strong hands keep it in place. “It may come as a surprise to you, but I’ve loved him for a very long time, you know.”

“Have you?” Rufus tilts his head slightly, leaning back in his chair and continuing his ministrations with her leg. “Did you love him while you were sleeping with that SOLDIER? Did you love him while you were sleeping with that pilot? Did you still love him while you were _fucking_ Tseng?”

“I never did any of that. I didn’t sleep with any of them,” Charlie snaps, frowning. “Do you hate him so much that you can’t stand being near him for a few days? You realize you’re going to have to be near him your entire life when we get married?”

Rufus gets suddenly to his feet, pushing her leg out of his lap and getting right in her face. His hand catches her chin, fingertips digging into her cheeks, digging into her skin a little too hard. Charlie whimpers, attempting to jerk her face away, but he’s not about to let her go so easily. She forces herself to look into his eyes.

“I suppose that _would_ be a problem,” he murmurs against her mouth, looking furious, “ _if_ you were going to marry him.”

“I will.”

“No, you won’t,” he says again. “You don’t need him. You don’t need his money, you don’t need any favors he might be able to do for you. You need _me_.”

“You can’t force me to choose.”

“I can. I’m the president now, or have you forgotten?” His fingers press harder against her face. “You are _nothing_ without me, Charlie. Without me, you’re just another one of those filthy terrorists, begging to be executed.” Rufus narrows his eyes, moving so close to her that their foreheads nearly touch. “Can Reeve save you from that, sweet sister?”

Charlie remains silent, suddenly fearful. Her brother wouldn’t go to the same lengths their father did, would he? Would he go so far as to make _certain_ Charlie wouldn’t marry Reeve, by eliminating him completely from the picture?

She doesn’t want to believe it of her own brother, but she doesn’t quite know what to believe anymore. 

“I thought not,” he hisses, releasing her face. Charlie exhales the moment his fingers leave her, and she rubs softly at her chin, her heart pounding. “Do you want your old department back? Do you want your name cleared?”

Charlie nods slowly. Lying will only make it worse. 

The shadow of their father flashes across Rufus’s face. “Then shut up, and do as you’re told.”

* * *

It had been painful, at first, upon reading all five letters. It had been painful to realize that she would never be able to confront her father about them. It had been painful to realize that she would never know what he was going to write in his last letter, that she would never know why he stopped. 

It had been painful to know that, perhaps, he did love her in his own way, just like Rufus. No matter how much distance her brother wants to put between himself and their father, Charlie knows they’re too similar, the both of them power-hungry and greedy, the both of them wanting and wanting and wanting, never relenting until what they want is in their very grasp. 

But wanting and wanting and wanting had killed her father. The Promised Land that he sought all of his life will likely never come under Shinra’s control now, not if Rufus has any say in the matter. There are more important things to him, like tracking Sephiroth and rebuilding Sector Seven. 

At least those are respectable things. 

She had taken everything in those letters with a grain of salt. Despite being apart from her father for the majority of her childhood, she knows the kind of man he had been, and ‘sentimental’ is not a word that she would ever use to describe the late President Shinra. 

In all honesty, Charlie had considered the idea that her father had written those letters only to paint himself in a good light, to make himself out to be this tragic figurehead of a company that stole him away from his family, the family that he loved so much. 

No matter what he wrote in those letters, Charlie will never forget the memories that stay with her all these years later: the screaming matches between he and Mother, the brutal and punishing beatings he gave them all, disappearing for weeks on end to stay in an apartment with some mistress around Charlie’s current age while his children were being cared for by unprepared Turks. 

There had been good memories, as well, but all of them tainted by the reality of who her father was. All of those good memories are from her younger years, when Father and Mother were still together and relatively happy.

If she had to name her true father, it wouldn’t be President Shinra. If she had to name her true father, the name she would give is Veld. 

Veld had been the one to step up when her father decided to step down, cooking she and Rufus their meals and helping her dress for school in the mornings while she was still bleary-eyed and half-asleep. 

He had read her stories before bed and laid down with her until she fell asleep, had allowed her to clamber into his own bed during terrifying thunderstorms when she was still little enough, had disciplined her gently when she needed it, had let her whisper childish secrets into her ear and had the grace to act scandalized afterwards. 

And he had introduced her to Tseng for the first time as a teenager, while Charlie had been staying at the villa in Costa del Sol after her father had taken Rufus away to Midgar for “important business”. And it had been Veld who had assigned Tseng to her for the first time a few years after their first meeting, calling it Tseng’s “ultimate test”.

She had come sprinting down the stairs, excited to attend a private charity auction at seventeen with one of her favorite people, missing the diamond earrings that Rufus had bought her specifically for the event. “ _Veld!_ ” she had cried over and over and over again, voice carrying through the expansive house as she tore apart each room in search of her earrings. “I can’t find my— _oh!_ What are _you_ doing here?”

Tseng had been standing at the bottom of the stairs awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure he really fit in with everything. He had been clad in a tight-fitting tuxedo, hands held behind his back, black bow-tie at his neck, hair tied back neatly. 

Veld had apologized for not being able to go with her like he said he would, but had assured her that Tseng would be just as good a date as any, and a far better one for Charlie than _he_ would have been. She can’t recall ever really spending time alone with Tseng before then, always joined by a second Turk. 

“Go easy on him, darling, he could be a good friend to you,” Veld had whispered to her as he helped comb her room for the lost earrings. They had been under her bed, and he had put them in her ears in a very practiced manner. “He’ll take good care of you, all right?”

Charlie had thought, at the time, he looked very sad, like a father might look when releasing his daughter into the world for the first time. “Okay,” she had whispered back.

Veld had touched the side of her face, looking very seriously into her eyes. “Don’t break his heart, Charlotte.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good girl.” And she had let her eyes flutter closed to allow Veld to press a kiss to her forehead. 

Tseng had passed the “ultimate test” with flying colors, as she knew he would. A perfect gentleman, content to listen to her talk and fill the silences, opening doors for her and pulling out chairs. 

It was then that Veld started pulling away from her. Veld had passed her off to another Turk like all the time they spent together meant nothing to him.

The first few months with Tseng as her primary caretaker had been the most difficult. Charlie didn’t know how to talk to him without feeling like she was annoying him, didn’t know how close to sit or stand beside him without making him feel uncomfortable, didn’t know if she could ask him to do things with her that weren’t sitting at her side and looking intimidating. 

She was used to curling up at Veld’s side on the sofa, receiving chaste kisses on her head for good news, having dinner together at home and on the beach. She had cracked his hard exterior long ago when she was very little, but she was completely unprepared to have to crack another hardened Turk. 

But once she found out that Tseng thought she was _funny_ , it was over. He wasn’t Veld, but she could at least get him to smile and laugh. 

All for nothing now. 

Charlie shakes off the memory, shivering. Sometimes she wishes she could have had a normal childhood, one with a perfect little nuclear family where everyone got along. Sometimes she wishes she could have grown up with friends that weren’t her brother or Turks. 

And yet, despite everything her father had done, there was still a small part of her that yearned for his approval, that _craved_ it. She had spent years honing her charm, her wit, her conversational skills, and people loved her. 

People poured affection onto her—the Turks, Rufus, their mother, the people of the slums who once saw her as a hero. She could have had anyone she wanted, could convince near anyone to do anything for her. 

But her father never liked her. Maybe he did love her, in his own way, but he never liked her. 

Perhaps she could have been more serious sometimes, but all she wanted was to make her father smile and laugh, to make him think she was funny, to make him happy. 

She had considered telling Reeve about the letters, but she didn’t want to worry him. She knows that, if he were to see what was left behind for her (if it was intentionally left behind at all), he would only worry about her. 

He’s very good at worrying. 

* * *

“ _One, two_ —” A soft grunt as she strikes his chest. He’s holding back. “ _Three. Good. Go again._ ”

“ _Remind me why we have to do this? It’s boring. Can’t you just teach me how to shoot a gun?_ ”

“ _You need to learn to defend yourself when left to your own devices. One day, I may not be here to protect you._ ”

“ _You going to leave me just like Angeal did?_ ” The words are spit in his face, a threat, a dare. “ _Just like Veld did?_ ” 

“ _No. Try again, and stop talking._ _You’re getting distracted._ ”

She doesn’t want to try again. She’s done fighting. She’s done pretending that she might be able to learn to fight. It’s no use practicing against someone who won’t even raise a hand to her. “ _Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tseng._ _I thought you’d know better than that._ ”

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

“ _Everyone leaves. It’s what you Turks do._ _Don’t pretend that you’re any different than the rest of them._ ”

“ _If I felt I could not uphold the promises I made in regards to you, I would not have made those promises._ ”

“ _That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?_ _Another job?_ ”

“ _It’s better that way._ ”

“ _For you?_ ” She puts her hands back up. She wants to hit him now. She wants to hit him in his stupid face for making her believe that they could be friends, that they could genuinely care about each other without strings attached. “ _Or for me?_ ”

Her alarm wakes her abruptly. It’s still dark outside. 

She tries to force back the memory that still lingers in the back of her mind. 

With Reeve’s back fitted snugly against her chest, Charlie places a soft kiss on his shoulder and slips her arm out from underneath his head. She wants to sleep for sixteen more hours, to stay in Midgar rather than go smile and wave at people who hate her for a stupid parade. 

And the worst part about it is that _Heidegger_ is going. At least, maybe, she’ll get a chance to sneak aboard the _Highwind_ , just to take a look. It’s been a long time since she’s been inside the beautiful air ship, and maybe Cid would like a few pictures sent to him, just to prove that it’s still in one piece.

“Are you leaving _now_?” Reeve murmurs into his pillow, inhaling deep when Charlie reaches around to splay a hand against his chest, lying back down once she turns her alarm off. “Your brother does know that helicopters fly just as well in the afternoon, doesn’t he?”

“Why don’t you say that to his face?” she asks him teasingly, nudging his dark hair aside with the tip of her nose to kiss the top of his spine. “Or roll over and say it to mine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, shifting away from her to turn completely, able to look into her face. 

They both smile shyly at each other, tired smiles that are visible only because of the full moon that’s still shining in through their bedroom windows. Charlie takes a moment to admire him, kissing his throat lightly and raking her fingers through his shaggy hair. 

“I begged for you to come, you know,” she whispers, one of his strong hands coming to rest firm upon her hip, squeezing gently. “We deserve to get away from the city together.”

Reeve closes his eyes again, and Charlie brushes his hair out of his face. 

She misses the way it was sometimes, when it first started. After they had slept together, Reeve had maintained a certain distance from her, keeping things professional despite making excuses to see her or speak to her only briefly. 

And after months of it, Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. She had cornered him in his office, her charm failing her completely. She still remembers how nervous she had been, how childish she had felt in his presence, how badly she wanted him to love her, and when she had asked about how he felt regarding that particular night, he had made every effort to avoid speaking of feelings.

“Look, Charlie, I . . .” he had begun, and she could have cried. “I understand if you want to just forget any of that ever happened, but . . .”

That had been the last thing she wanted, and she had told him so. “I want to . . . do it _more_ ,” she had confessed, blushing heatedly and wrapping her arms around herself. And then, having felt she wasn’t being specific enough, she had added, “With you.”

She’ll never forget the look on Reeve’s face, the way he had flushed, exhaling softly as if her confession had knocked the wind from him. “That’s very flattering,” he had responded in kind, rubbing at the back of his bright red neck. “At the risk of sounding cold, I . . . don’t think I’m interested in continuing a purely . . . _Gods,_ Charlotte . . . a purely _sexual_ relationship with you.”

Charlie had been so embarrassed she could have died. “Oh,” she’d sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that—”

“No! No, no, don’t—don’t just do it with someone else,” he had protested, reaching out for her arm as she tried to escape the office, fingers curling gently around her upper arm. “What I mean is . . . I really like you, Charlie, and I don’t know that I’m comfortable with something so . . . casual.”

“Well, what if I wanted something different?”

He was nervous, she remembers. Maybe he was too afraid to continue his rejections of the president’s daughter. “Like what?”

“Like, what if I wanted you to . . . take me out on real dates and walk me to my front door afterwards to kiss me good-night? And what if, sometimes, I wanted you to stay the night with me, even if we just sleep?”

It had taken him a long time to answer that. She could almost see the steam coming from his ears, his brain hard at work, his lips pressed tightly together and eyebrows furrowed, working out the answer to some question left unsaid. 

And then, after a long silence, he had asked, “You want to be my girlfriend?”

And she had said, “Yeah, I do.”

In the months that had followed _that_ , it was all they could do to keep it a secret. Rufus had threatened to expose them at every turn, but it only made it that more exciting. It had been shy smiles across conference tables, experimental and curious touching in the bedroom of her apartment that she’d slept alone in for years, the happiest she had felt in a long time.

“Hey,” she breathes, brushing the tip of her nose against his own. 

He hums sleepily. 

“I’m sorry about the way Rufus treats you,” she says, as genuinely as she can.

His eyes open again, but he chooses to say nothing, only offering her a small smile as if to let her know it’s not her fault. 

Truthfully, Rufus’s attitude towards Reeve lately has been more abhorrent than it’s ever been, having moved far beyond the usual sneering and passive insults. It’s developed into threats (though she isn’t sure Rufus would truly harm Reeve unless he was extremely desperate) and bouts of semi-violent rage at the mere mention of his name, now that their father isn’t alive to force him to be civil and polite. 

Reeve means _nothing_ to Rufus, and it frightens her. 

Rufus had shot Palmer like it was nothing, all because of some stupid remark that Charlie hadn’t even cared about. He didn’t need a reason to do it. 

But he has plenty of reasons to hurt Reeve, and a strong desire to cut him out of her life forever. 

Charlie doesn’t mind it so much. Rufus has always been slightly aggressive towards her, as if he always had something to prove, and to have her head jerked around a few times a week is nothing compared to the beatings her father used to give her. 

She doesn’t mind taking a pull of her hair, a swat across the face, if it means sparing Reeve from any harm. 

At least Rufus apologizes afterwards. 

She feels half a hostage. She has no say in anything anymore unless Rufus wishes it, and it’s not like she can leave. Rufus would drag her back to Midgar even if it killed her, before laying claim to her in the hopes of intimidating her, or reminding her what he’s capable of. 

She fears that, one day, it might go too far.

_Let Rufus hurt me all he wants,_ she thinks, nuzzling against Reeve’s chest, _but I will never let Rufus will never touch_ him. 

“If you really knew what it was like for us as children . . .” She knows it sounds like an excuse. She doesn’t want to excuse Rufus’s behavior towards Reeve, because she hates the way her brother treats him, but Charlie knows that much of that rage and aggression had been borne from circumstances beyond Rufus’s control. “He’s just protective of me, that’s all.”

“Then tell me,” he rasps, still gently breaking down the walls that have risen around her all these years later, her heart racing. “Tell me what it was like for you.”

She wants to run, to scream _no!_ until the subject is forgotten. She doesn’t want to bring up old memories for her to dwell on. 

She doesn’t want to tell Reeve what she and Rufus used to do together as children. She doesn’t want to describe the beatings she’d received and watched Rufus receive. She doesn’t want to remember hiding underneath the blankets of her brother’s bed and hoping their father, in a drunken rage, would leave them alone.

“I don’t . . .” Charlie shakes her head, not wanting to think about it at all. “I don’t know that I want to do that.”

“Charlie, you’ve admitted to me that you built the bombs that destroyed the reactors, and yet here I am. Nothing you say could be any worse.”

_It could_. “You know why I built the bombs. You know that.” She hesitates, propping herself onto an elbow, resting her head against her palm. “You wouldn’t like me anymore if you knew everything.”

He smiles weakly. “I doubt that very much.”

Charlie hesitates, her hand slipping below the blankets to touch him, in the hopes of distracting him. 

Reeve is quick, catching her wrist before she’s able to touch anything and smiling knowingly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, Charlie, then just say so.”

The shame is enough to kill her on the spot. The shame of what she’d done as a child, the shame of trying to bury those memories and deny their happening to herself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Reeve pushes himself up onto his own elbow, high enough above her to smile down at her. It makes her want to cry. How can he smile at her? How can he still look at her like that? How can he see her as anything but a murderer and a liar? How can he see someone there that isn’t an empty shell?

_Was Rufus right?_ she can’t help but think. _Am I nothing?_

Upon releasing her wrist, Charlie brings her hand back out of the blankets, holding it against her chest. She doesn’t know why she feels so nervous.

His free hand comes to rest lightly on her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing back and forth across her bottom lip. She would be lying if she said she didn’t dream about this exact scenario for months when she first met him, a scrawny and awkward sixteen-year-old that would have done anything for a chance to touch him even innocently. 

“Tell me something else, then,” he urges her softly, moving his thumb away from her lips. “What’s wrong?”

Charlie sighs. _Mother, Veld, Angeal, Father, Tseng. Mother, Veld, Angeal, Father, Tseng._ She can’t stop thinking of them all, their abrupt good-byes, and in some cases, no good-byes at all. “I can’t lose you,” she confesses, hoping he gets the point without forcing her to spell it out. 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he whispers, pressing his lips to her jaw, peppering her neck with sweet little pecks that make her eyes close, heat springing to her cheeks. “Of all things,” he continues through kisses, parting his lips now when they touch her skin, “ _that_ is the last thing you should worry about.”

Charlie doesn’t want his vision of her to suddenly be tainted and dirty, soiled and used. She knows how he feels about Rufus. She knows how Reeve feels when he catches them sharing a bed together, when he catches Rufus putting hands on her, when he catches Charlie not _quite_ encouraging her brother’s affectionate behavior, but not at all trying to put a stop to it. 

She doesn’t _really_ believe that Reeve would leave her. They’ve been together for so long now, and with their wedding quickly approaching, she knows the both of them are in far too deep to back out. It’s probably why he had come back to her so easily, without a big fuss, despite the horrifying atrocities she had contributed to.

She gives him a long kiss before leaving, sparing some extra time to make sure that no part of him is left untouched before she leaves to catch the helicopter that will take her, Rufus, and Heidegger to Junon. 

If it were up to her, she might never come back. 

* * *

Charlie is exhausted by the time they reach Junon, and she falls asleep the moment they get in the car that will take them back to the apartment they’ll be staying at, a place he’s been renting for years.

Originally, the place had been used to hide his girlfriends, though none of them lasted long. Without anyone to see the girls he’d been keeping or to rub it in anyone’s face, it had become boring, and Rufus subconsciously found himself picking out the uglier features of the women he’d bring home whilst in the middle of fucking them. 

By the end of it, he could hardly look at them any longer, always sending them on their way without so much as a “good-night.”

Charlie’s head rests upon his shoulder, the both of them being slightly jostled around as the car takes them across the massive military city. Decorations and banners adorn the sides of shops announcing a new reign, with Rufus Shinra as president and his sweet, beautiful, sleeping sister as his vice president. 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, wanting to rest his cheek to her hair and fall asleep himself. With the tinted partition hiding them from view of the driver, Rufus takes Charlie’s hand in his own, lining up their long and slender fingers, her nails neatly manicured and painted a soft pink color. 

All it will take is a few days. A few days to remind her that she doesn’t need Reeve, that the two of them had survived years without Reeve. There’s nothing that Reeve can give Charlie that _he_ can’t, if she would let him. 

He can buy her whatever she wants—houses across the world, all the jewelry she could ask for, anything she ever wanted. He could even love her, which is more than he can say for the other women he’s slept with. He could be _good_ to her, could make her _happy_.

But she never lets him. Whenever she brings up Reeve, all it does is throw gasoline onto the fire already raging inside of him. Whenever he tries to show her he cares, Charlie pushes him away, like she doesn’t remember all the times they had come to each other in the dark as children, seeking some kind of love, some form of genuine affection, some kind of honest emotional connection to _someone_. 

He will not beg for Charlie to love him. A Shinra does not beg for anything. That had been the first lesson their father had ever drilled into his head. A Shinra doesn’t beg, they _take_. 

He could take her right now, in the back of this car. She would be powerless to stop it, unless she decided to play the fool and fight back. There are no Turks here to keep him under control, Reeve is back in Midgar, and neither Father nor Mother are alive to keep them apart any longer. 

He could show her he could be gentle. He could prove to her that _he’s_ worthy of love, too. She can’t deny him that—she can’t deny the _president_ that.

Rufus almost does act upon it, reaching up slowly to hold his hand splayed before her throat, maneuvering himself very slightly to keep her sleeping. Her head shifts a little bit, exposing more of her throat to him. He takes it as a sign, placing light fingertips around her neck, thumb caressing her pulse. 

She sighs softly, sleeping peacefully. She had nearly fallen asleep aboard the helicopter, as well, loud as it had been. His heart races (why is his heart racing?) as he puts a little bit of pressure around her throat, and just as she begins to stir from her sleep, he softens his grip.

He doesn’t have the heart to take from his sister right now. Maybe he’s just tired. For the thousandth time in a week, he curses his weakness, curses his sister.

Charlie inhales deeply, nuzzling against his shoulder. “What are you doing?” she murmurs.

Rufus pulls his hand away from her. “Nothing,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she rubs her eyes, smoothing her hair down. “Where are we staying again?”

“I’ve a place downtown that’ll be more than enough room for the both of us.”

“I didn’t know you had a place here.”

“It’s not a place I use often anymore.”

Charlie is quiet for a little while, watching the buildings pass them by. The car maneuvers smoothly down the long roads, escorted by a security car ahead of them to clear the way. “Have you heard from the Turks at all lately?” she asks him suddenly, too casually for it to be genuine.

“We’ve been in contact,” he answers, feeling no need to lie to her. “They happened upon your Avalanche friends a little while ago, Charlie, including the one with the sword.”

She seems too eager for more information. “Where?”

“They crossed paths at the Mythril Mines, and must be days ahead of those terrorists by now. The Turks certainly aren’t lacking for any resources.”

“Is Avalanche tracking Sephiroth, too?”

Rufus frowns at her. He hasn’t had much contact at all with the Turks, truthfully, waiting on a briefing sometime this weekend to decide what their next plan of action is. He doesn’t like his closest allies being so far away from him, and from Charlie. 

“It doesn’t matter what their goal is,” Rufus reminds her sharply. “The Turks haven’t been tasked with stopping them at all costs and interrogating them. I’m not foolish enough to risk the lives of the last of the Turks. So long as Avalanche stays out of Shinra’s way, they’re safe—for the time being.” When Charlie looks doubtfully at him, he adds, “We’ll deal with them after we deal with Sephiroth.”

Charlie looks at him for a long time, and she looks as if she’s dying to get something off her chest, but she only gives him a small smile. “Well, in any case, I’m glad the Turks are all right.”

Rufus reaches over to take her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He can be good. He can be loving. He can make her happy. He can comfort her when she needs it. 

These tender moments, shared in private and ever fleeting, are numbered now. Soon, she’ll have her own life, along with all the men she currently has around her wrapped around her finger, making herself out to be the people’s hero, and everyone will forget about him.

Rufus Shinra, always standing in the shadows of his father and his sister.

“Do you remember much of Sephiroth?” Charlie asks suddenly, and it’s such an odd question that it feels a little jarring. 

Of course he remembers Sephiroth, though he hadn’t spent so much time around him as Charlie had, back when she was still known to flirt with that SOLDIER. Having been raised within the company, Rufus had seen Sephiroth stalking the halls of the Shinra Building several times before, but neither of them ever made an effort to speak to each other. 

“A little,” he admits. 

Charlie seems lost in thought, her eyes slightly glazed over as she gazes out the window. “I just don’t understand it.”

“Understand what?”

“I just . . . never thought that Sephiroth would do something like that,” she confesses. “But I guess . . . I didn’t know any of them as well as I wanted to believe I did.”

Rufus looks steadily at her, wondering if the dam is going to break soon. She hasn’t said much about Angeal since confronting him a few days ago, and Rufus has always believed that, despite the audacity of it all, Charlie did care for her SOLDIER, very much so. 

He’s sure that finding out such regrettable information had hurt her, a wound that probably had healed years ago, half-forgotten now. 

He’s almost tempted to tell her exactly what Sephiroth had done five years ago, and what Shinra had done to make it right. Knowing the truth behind Shinra’s greatest war hero’s last days makes it relatively easy to believe Sephiroth would have no trouble killing President Shinra.

No, that’s not right. Shinra hadn’t done anything to fix Sephiroth’s deadly work. They had covered it up. His father had covered it up. 

“Don’t worry about Sephiroth,” he says, confident. “The Turks will handle him.”

Charlie hums, sounding almost doubtful.

* * *

Part of him wishes Reeve _were_ here, if only to see the way his fianceé behaves behind closed doors with her own brother, lying in bed with him (the guest room bed, of course, because Rufus wouldn’t bring his own sister into the bed where he’s slept with other women). 

To force Reeve to watch as Charlie bestows affection all over him would certainly bring him a certain vindictive pleasure, a queer form of satisfaction. 

To have Reeve watch as Charlie scratches lightly at the back of his head, to have Reeve watch as Charlie lies down in bed with him, to have Reeve watch as Charlie allows her brother’s fingers to trace patterns on her thigh, a casual form of intimacy that Rufus hasn’t been allowed for a very long time. 

Rufus turns his head away from the news program on the television to look at her. Her eyes are closed now, her head hanging awkwardly to rest upon his shoulder, but her fingers continue their ministrations lazily, fingernails scratching against the nape of his neck, chest rising and falling softly.

It had been a long day of meeting uniformed men and women, who excitedly awaited their presence, and then they had been given the very long tour of the city by one of their captain’s, which had seemed to last forever. 

After that, Charlie had exploded on Heidegger (and the entire crew present) after seeing that changes and upgrades were being made to the _Highwind_ that she certainly didn’t approve of. All it had taken to make her happy was to hit Heidegger with the butt of his gun, hard enough to crack his nose and make blood spew from both nostrils.

It had been nothing to him, really, but Charlie had been pleased, and when Rufus brought her back to the apartment, she was more than happy to indulge him when he decided to steal a chaste little kiss from her. 

“Don’t,” she’d whispered against him, the moment he had opened his mouth against her own. 

Rufus had almost reached up to tug violently at her hair, to make her give him exactly what he wanted. But he hadn’t. He didn’t even intend on kissing her at all, but the adrenaline from what he had done to Heidegger was still coursing through him, and he didn’t have another woman here to help him with it. 

“Okay,” he’d whispered back, feeling helpless. He supposes it wouldn’t look good for the man she’s going to marry to find out that she’s still fooling around with her brother like a couple of experimental and lonely kids.

She’s a tease, only wanting a little taste before pushing him away again. She’s always been like that, ever since she met Reeve, ever since she found someone else willing to give her the affection that she’d been craving, that she’d been taking from Rufus.

Once she met Reeve, she wasn’t interested in sneaking into Rufus’s bedroom anymore. She wasn’t interested in what Rufus could offer her, wasn’t interested in anything beyond _him_. She had been sixteen, with dreams of marrying this employee of her father’s, with dreams of being with him all the time, forever, and leaving Rufus behind to rot by himself in the villa. 

“Don’t tell Reeve what we’ve done,” she would beg him, desperate and wide-eyed, “please, don’t tell him. I’ll do anything you ask, but please don’t tell him.”

She hadn’t wanted Reeve to see her as less than perfect, as something tainted by his own hands. 

And eventually, Charlie went from pleading Rufus for silence, to denial. “Why would you say something like that? That never happened,” she would say, but Rufus could tell she didn’t believe it herself.

Reeve hadn’t been an issue at the start, really, as he had the decency to keep his hands to himself for the first few years, and when she started showing interest in other men, Reeve had stepped back into the shadows to watch better men take the place that could have been his, if he’d only _taken_ what he wanted like a man. 

She had been sixteen and in love with him, the president’s own daughter, who would grow to be the most beautiful and powerful woman in the world, who would become the most desirable bachelorette in the world the moment she turned eighteen.

That cuckold had waited _six years_ to finally claim what was his, and Rufus won’t deny that it didn’t sit well with him, to open up his sister’s bedroom door and find another man in bed with her. 

It’s not like Reeve was the only one. When Rufus had been younger, when Tseng began to take over Veld’s old position as primary caregiver (a truly pathetic job for a Turk of his skill, and horribly embarrassing for Charlie, who was old enough to be on her own by then), Rufus couldn’t believe the Turk’s restraint. 

Tseng and Charlie spent _weeks_ alone together at times, playing house in either the villa or the family home in Midgar. Charlie had been young, ripe for the taking, defenseless, and Rufus probably wouldn’t even have tried to stop it if it happened. 

Was it weakness that prevented Tseng from taking her, from having her in an empty home with no one to hear her pleading? Or was it an honorable amount of self-control? Or was it something else? Something that Rufus—the emotionally stunted and codependent brat he is (in the words of his own damned father)—can’t really imagine feeling?

He thinks he feels it, whatever _it_ is, when he looks down into her sleeping face. 

“Rufus?” she moans softly, adjusting her head and sighing. 

Rufus swallows hard. “What?”

“Turn the TV off so I can sleep.”

He does it automatically, without even thinking about it. It’s easier to let her believe that, in private, _she_ holds the power. “Better?”

Charlie hums, sliding down the bed slightly to curl up in the crook of his arm, her head against his chest. He brushes some hair from her face and listens for her breathing to shift, to let him know that she’s fast asleep again. 

“Don’t worry, sister,” he breathes, unsure if whatever he’s going to say will penetrate her brain, unsure if she’ll remember in the morning. “I won’t force you to marry that upjumped architect.”

* * *

Charlie wakes with the birds. 

Rufus is still sleeping, and likely will for a few more hours, until he’s forced to get out of bed for the parade. She doesn’t quite understand how he can sleep through the blaring music that’s slightly muffled by the windows, prepping the city for the inauguration of Shinra’s (and, by extension, the _planet’s_ ) new president. 

She untangles herself from her brother, bringing her phone with her to the living room and checking her watch as she falls backwards onto the sofa. It’s early enough for Reeve to be awake, and when she calls, he answers almost immediately.

“ _How’s everything going?_ ”

“All right, I guess. Heidegger approved changes for the _Highwind_ that I wish he wouldn’t have.”

“ _I’m sorry. I know how much that ship means to you._ ”

Charlie sighs heavily. “I miss you.”

“ _I miss you, too._ ”

“Listen, I know you’ve been really busy lately, but when we get to Costa del Sol, Rufus isn’t staying for long.” She hesitates, glancing towards the closed bedroom door, behind which, her brother still sleeps. “Why don’t you come and stay with me for a little? Just a few days, just the two of us.”

She can hear _him_ sighing this time. “ _Charlotte, sweetheart, I would love to, but I’m very busy here_ —”

“Please,” she begs, trying to keep quiet. “Just for _one_ night, that’s all I’m asking. I just want to be with you again.”

“ _Then come back to Midgar. You know I won’t ever turn you away._ ”

They both laugh softly. Charlie chews on her bottom lip, considering it, but going back to Midgar will only make it harder to leave again. “Come to Costa del Sol. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner, wine and dine you a little bit before we go home and—”

“ _All right, fine,_ ” he replies teasingly, “ _you’ve convinced me. Call me when you get settled in Costa del Sol, all right?_ ”

Charlie smiles, even though she doesn’t have to. He can’t see her. “Okay,” she whispers, wanting to cry. Her eyes sting, but she swallows the lump in her throat, forcing herself to sound cool and casual over the phone. “I’ll let you go, then. I love you.”

“ _I love you, too. Good luck today. I’ll be watching the parade in my office._ ”

“I’ll blow a kiss just for you.”

“ _Well, I would appreciate that very much. Lucky me._ ”

“Yeah,” she repeats, closing her eyes to try and picture his face. “Lucky you.”


	29. Chapter 29

She certainly looks the part of vice president.

In the morning, Reeve watches Rufus give a speech to a flood of spectators, charismatic and charming and a real leader, but Reeve thinks his speech may have been influenced by Charlie’s own words. It sounds suspiciously like something she might go on a tangent about after having a few drinks, complaining about the way her father ran the company. 

Truthfully, it’s inspiring, promising a better future, and the crowd loves it. 

Regardless of whose speech it actually is, Reeve can’t help but notice the way Charlie looks at her brother while he speaks, with a look of pure and unfiltered love, adoration, admiration, a smile on her face that speaks far louder than Rufus’s empty words do. 

“Oh, her dress is _so_ lovely,” his assistant sighs when she enters his office to deliver some mail, looking wistfully at the television. “How does it feel to know you’re going to be marrying the vice president now, sir?”

Reeve can’t help but laugh breathily. “I suppose it’s a little intimidating, between you and me,” he answers truthfully.

His assistant raises a hand to her mouth, laughing quietly before taking her leave.

After the speeches are done, Charlie rides in the backseat of a topless car, shoulder to shoulder with her brother, smiling in her very practiced way and waving to those who reach for her, who shout for her, who hold up t-shirts and banners and pennants with her last name written across them all. 

At one point, Charlie even looks right into a camera and smiles shyly, blowing a kiss to no one in particular, but it makes Reeve smile when he sees it. 

All the while, Rufus sits in the car, looking uninterested and offering smiles only when his sister turns to him to teasingly scold him, one of his arms thrown over her shoulders, resting on the back of the seats. The music blares through the speakers, a brass band and marching infantrymen following hot on the heels of the car.

It’s almost odd to see Charlie without a Turk at her side. It almost makes him nervous, makes him feel as if their vulnerability does not go unnoticed. There are one or two guards in the car, crammed in the front seat with their guns in their laps, but they’re prime targets for an assassination attempt, and it makes Reeve’s heart race.

He continues to watch them closely, reminded of the conversation they had _almost_ had the morning she left for Junon. He hadn’t needed to hear Charlie say anything for him to understand. He understands her far more than she gives him credit for sometimes.

He’s no fool, even if Charlie wants to believe it of him.

He knows that Charlie and Rufus had been alone together for the greater part of their childhood, knows that Veld had caught them kissing a few times as children (and a few times as teenagers, though Charlie has always steadfastly denied anything less than innocent), knows that they continue to share a bed when away from the city and others, even well into adulthood.

Of course he doesn’t blame her for it, nor would her confession change his mind about their future, but it is unsettling. Despite Charlie believing that she does hold some power in her regards to Rufus, the only reason she believes that is because Rufus has _allowed_ her to believe that. 

Perhaps there had been some power she once held over him. After all, she was the first born. But whatever power she held over her brother had evaporated the moment their father named Rufus the vice president. 

Before he had even asked President Shinra if he could marry Charlie, Reeve had placed a phone call to someone he hadn’t spoken to for years, someone that Charlie had no idea he was still able to contact. There had been things he wanted to know, things he wanted to say, and a small part of him wanted to hear the voice again he hadn’t heard in years, just to make sure that it hadn’t all been a dream.

It had taken Reeve twenty minutes to confess to Veld his intentions, and he had been surprised by the answer he received, an angry tirade of reasons as to why Charlie should have been off-limits from day one. 

“ _That girl wasn’t fit to be with you four years ago, and she’s not fit to marry anyone even now. That girl has the emotional capacity of a fifteen-year-old and you’re telling me you want to_ marry _her?_ ” Veld had replied, and Reeve could easily picture his face while listening to the horrible scolding. It made him feel guilty, like he had taken advantage of her, like he had coerced her into doing things she didn’t really want to be doing. “ _Charlotte hasn’t a clue what a healthy marriage looks like. Are you prepared for that? Are you prepared for her to leave when the going gets tough?_ _That brother of hers will have you shot dead before you see yourself married to her, Reeve, I’m telling you. He’s been grooming her since they were children, and we all know how Charlotte feels about her brother._ ”

He had to remind himself that it had been a long time since Veld had seen Charlie. She had still been young when last they met, and she had been on the brink of adulthood, still struggling with a childish mentality that would eventually be helped along by her spending a large amount of time with Tseng, who wasn’t half so indulgent with her as Veld had been. 

The conversation had ended on a hopeful note, however, once Reeve had been given a chance to explain himself, to tell Veld the truth of their happy relationship. And then he had asked the question he regrets ever asking, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Has anything ever happened between Charlie and her brother?”

“ _They were the only children around the home for years, close enough in age to make no difference, their mother was gone and their father absent, and he’s been the only boy that’s loved her consistently since he was born until now. Make of that what you will._ ” 

There had been a long silence afterwards, in which Reeve could hear Veld huffing and puffing and scoffing and sighing, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. During that time, Reeve didn’t think he really had the heart to go through with a proposal, especially knowing what Veld had meant to Charlie, but he had been given an ultimatum that seemed just fine to him. 

“ _If you ever break that girl’s heart, I will kill you myself, is that clear? And I won’t make it quick, believe that._ ”

The wind had been knocked out of him. “Yes, sir,” he’d replied, and that had been the end of any marriage talk. “Yes, that sounds fine. Thank you.”

“ _How is she? Is Tseng still taking care of her?_ ”

“He’s been very kind to her, don’t worry,” Reeve had promised him. “She’s really good, Veld, you wouldn’t believe it. And she misses you, even if she won’t admit it to me.”

“ _All right,_ ” he had said quietly into the phone. “ _She’s a good girl, Reeve. She’s not like them._ ”

“I know it.”

* * *

If she _were_ to leave Midgar, where would she go?

The question is on her mind from the moment she slips into the back of the roofless car with her brother. She puts on her false smile, gives some red-faced men a few waves, reaches out as if hoping to touch hands with the children waving pennants with her last name on it, and blows a shy kiss to the camera once, hoping that Reeve is watching. 

And all the while, she tries to work out the answer to the question that her own brain poses: _where would she go?_

She knows there’s a tiny, hidden village way up north, but Charlie has never liked the cold, and that seems a bit too isolated for her. And besides, she would need an airship or a boat to get her to the northern continent, and then she would need to brave the faces of dangerous mountains and cliffs to even reach the village. 

She could go south, towards the Mideel area. She would need a boat to get there, as well, but it might be easy to stow away on some fishing boat if she was willing to bribe the captain. No one would think to look for her in Mideel, and with it being such a small community, the other villagers might be willing to aid her, might be willing to hide her away. 

Or they might give her up the moment a Turk comes to town, waving a hefty reward in everyone’s faces or beating half the village to death before someone confesses and she’s being dragged back on board a ship destined for Midgar. 

Is there anywhere that is safe from Shinra? Is there anywhere safe for her and Reeve? If she were to leave, to disappear off the face of the planet, and if she were to bring Reeve with her, she knows what would happen to him the moment someone caught up with them. 

She knows that Reeve would, most likely, be killed. He knows too much, and if it becomes clear that he poses some kind of threat towards Rufus, if it becomes clear that he’s willing to go into hiding with Charlie, her brother won’t care whether he’s brought back alive.

There is one place, however, a place that’s not entirely removed from Shinra, but a place where Charlie is certain she could find help. If she were to go to Rocket Town, she’s certain that Cid would help her the best he could once she finished pleading her case, and with his _Tiny Bronco,_ they could go anywhere, and she could find some tiny hamlet or a densely populated town to hide in plain sight. 

But if she brought Reeve with her to Rocket Town . . . would Cid still help them if he knew what was going on?

The fact of the matter is, if she were to leave, if she were to run away and disappear, she couldn’t possibly bring Reeve along with her, and that breaks her heart. She can’t imagine a life without him now, doesn’t _want_ to imagine a life without him.

Charlie glances down at the ring on her finger, twisting it anxiously. 

Rufus might use him as leverage, in an attempt to lure her back to Midgar, but Charlie knows that her brother would not kill Reeve in the hopes that she would be angry enough to return. Killing Reeve would only serve to push Charlie further away, and she might _never_ return to Midgar if that were the case. 

Maybe she doesn’t have to find a new home to settle down in, to hide until Rufus has either died or changed his ways (she’s convinced he’ll die before changing). 

Maybe she just needs to get to the Turks, to find Tseng and explain to him that Rufus is scaring her, that his touches are no longer about seeking any kind of comfort from her, that his touches are now about the power he holds, that they’re about taking what he wants as president, that they’re about owning everything in sight, even his sister. 

She could explain that she doesn’t feel safe, in the hopes of appealing to the part of him that still holds Veld in some high regard. She could explain that she doesn’t want to be alone, in the hopes of appealing to the part of him that genuinely cares for her. 

She’s willing to do anything, so long as Tseng believes her in the end and tries to help her. 

She could try to call him, of course, but she doesn’t want to distract him while he’s tracking Sephiroth. And she’s afraid that her phone is bugged, afraid that Rufus might hear what she’s planning, what she’s saying to Tseng, and then the both of them would be killed, and probably Reeve, for good measure.

And yet . . . even if she _were_ to go anywhere, how would she get there? Rufus would make sure she wouldn’t have access to any money (or he might allow her access, if only to track her purchases), and while she’s content with sleeping below the stars for a night or two, traveling across an entire continent alone is a completely different story.

Even with a gun, she wouldn’t be able to hold off any monsters, especially if they moved in packs. 

And in addition to monsters, there might be bandits, or deployed military men on the lookout for the missing vice president. She would have no transportation, no supplies, she would have to make her own meals (she can’t even cook over a _stove,_ how could she cook over a _fire?_ ). If she entered an inn, she would surely be recognized, and getting supplies would become difficult with everyone searching for her.

Charlie doesn’t know that she would be able to travel a few miles on foot, let alone several hundred miles. She wouldn’t last a day on her own, accustomed to other people fighting her battles for her, keeping her safe, cooking her food. 

The thought is not only discouraging, but a brutal blow to her self-esteem. Why hadn’t she taken Tseng seriously when he wanted her to learn to defend herself? Why hadn’t she tried to learn how to do things for herself? Why hadn’t she ever put forth the necessary effort into becoming independent, instead relying on assistance from the Turks for something so simple as helping her dress?

“The people would never have cheered like this for Father,” Rufus says, a smile plastered to his face. He chooses not to wave, leaving that for Charlie. “Look how much they love us, Charlie.”

Charlie’s smile never falters, her eyes scanning the crowd. There’s not a single familiar face among the street full of people, and the music that comes from the band behind them is starting to give her a headache. 

_Is it me they love? Or is it Rufus? Or is it Shinra?_

She can’t forget the speech that she had given, claiming responsibility for the attacks. Rufus hasn’t yet cleared her name, despite his promises to do so soon, but Charlie has a feeling that the clearing of her name will not come free of charge. 

He’s going to want something in return, and she’s afraid of the price.

_I’m a hostage,_ she thinks, still smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. _Reeve is a hostage. We aren’t safe, but we can’t leave._

Charlie continues to wave, blaming the tears at the corners of her eyes on the wind when Rufus asks. 

* * *

“. . . President Shinra, and his sister, Madam Vice President Shinra!”

Charlie walks at Rufus’s side through the doors to the dock, greeted by the hoarse and scratchy voice of the guard that announces them, not bothering to announce Heidegger, who trails behind them, his nose still bruised and broken, his cheeks flushed red as if the short walk has thoroughly exhausted him. 

Charlie had hoped that they would immediately depart for Costa del Sol, eager to see Reeve again, but they’re stopped by a few infantrymen who look nervous, standing in a line with their firearms and being led in a slightly impressive routine by their captain. 

Rufus seems unimpressed in general, and Heidegger takes a savage pleasure in quietly abusing the uniformed men in Rufus’s left ear. Charlie watches politely, offering a small smile at all three men who are facing her, waving their guns around and trying their best, despite their movements seeming disjointed and awkward and out of sync. 

Regardless, Rufus claps lightly afterwards, thanks them for a job well done, and enters the boat, muttering under his breath and using words like “waste of time”.

“Why don’t you get settled in, sister? It’s going to be a long trip,” he tells her as they make their way across the deck, where only a few people have decided to join them, the rest of the military left behind in Junon. “And I have business to discuss with Heidegger.”

Charlie stops amidships, and it takes Rufus a moment to realize she’s no longer at his side. “Why can’t I be there, too?”

Rufus closes the space between them, taking a few intimidating steps closer until he’s right in her face. If they were alone, Charlie is sure his hand would already be pulling hard on her hair, for no other reason than to show her he can. “Because I don’t want a pathetic little _traitor_ in all of my meetings,” he hisses against her lips. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Do I need to repeat myself?”

Charlie purses her lips, attempting to maintain as much of her dignity as possible. “I’m not a traitor,” she replies through gritted teeth.

“Maybe I don’t want you repeating every little thing to that doormat you left behind in Midgar,” Rufus continues, glancing around to make sure no one is paying them much attention. “Bleeding hearts, the both of you. It’s sickening. Now _go_ , and don’t make me say it again.”

Sighing, Charlie makes her way back down to the cargo hold, in the hopes of finding her own luggage that had been stashed on the ship hours ago, before her brother had even given his speech. Unfortunately, there’s far too much cargo to go through, and there are far too many people in the hold to go unnoticed. 

It’s only when she turns away from the suitcase in a small alcove that _looks_ like her own does she notice something is off. 

A few uniformed soldiers are standing on the other side of the hold, clearly trying to be discreet, hiding slightly behind a wooden crate that conceals the majority of them well enough. They’re all dressed in blue, in the Shinra uniform, their faces relatively hidden from view, but none of them have weapons on them.

Save for one, who stands out amidst his other three friends, twice as tall and twice as wide as all of them.

She isn’t quite sure how he managed to sneak aboard, all things considered. Charlie recognizes him right away, even if he hasn’t seen her yet. It seems strange that his presence wouldn’t raise any alarm, and she wonders if that’s because the person who _would_ have raised the alarm is now dead. 

She genuinely hopes that’s not the case, but at the same time, she’s pleased that they were able to get aboard without issue.

The sailor suit he’s wearing seems to be several sizes too small, tight against his arms, the seams ready to split. She can’t help but have a little respect for him, wearing a straight face in such a ridiculous outfit, with his right sleeve ripped in order to make room for the massive gun that’s been grafted onto his right arm. 

She _still_ has _so_ many questions about that. But those questions can wait. 

_If he’s on board, then . . ._

Charlie tries to identify any of the others that the gun-armed man is speaking with. She wonders if one of his friends is the yellow-haired one that has Angeal’s sword. Those questions _can’t_ wait. She needs answers, wants answers so badly, just to give her a sense of closure after the remaining questions that Tseng’s information had left her with. 

Charlie continues to hide behind the cargo, watching carefully. She can’t hear them talking, but the gun-armed man looks angry about something. 

What is she supposed to do? Is it possible that Avalanche is here on a mission to exterminate both she and her brother? Or do they have other plans? If they _are_ tracking Sephiroth, why would they need to come to Costa del Sol? Where are the Turks? Have they already crossed the sea and moved beyond the resort town to continue the chase?

_They may be my last hope,_ she thinks desperately, wondering what the chances are of being gunned down the moment she gets within five feet of them. _They could bring me as close to Rocket Town as possible._

Is Rocket Town really her ultimate goal? 

The thought makes her hesitate. What could Cid really be able to do for her? Where in the world could his _Tiny Bronco_ take her that Shinra wouldn’t be able to reach? And wouldn’t someone think to check Rocket Town for her? 

She has connections there, she has her rocket there, and Cid is there. Would Rufus do anything to Cid? Would Cid keep his mouth shut if he had information on Charlie?

There’s no doubt in her mind that Rufus would definitely have Cid killed if he wanted to. Cid means less to him that Reeve does, and killing Cid would be completely different to him than killing the man Charlie is to marry.

All right, maybe she won’t go to Rocket Town. Regardless of what Cid thinks of her, she isn’t going to willingly put him in danger just to escape her brother. 

But if she could travel with Avalanche just for a _little_ while, she might be able to put enough distance between her and Rufus to take things into her own hands. Maybe she could find a place to hide along the way, taking her leave of them wherever she sees fit. 

Charlie takes a single step forward. Even if she _is_ gunned down, she doesn’t really think she has much time left to her anyway. One of these days, Rufus is going to snap, and she wouldn’t put it past him to accidentally kill her in a fiery passion, only to stop and consider the consequences _after_ she’s already dead.

Her only hope left is Avalanche, and that’s a terrifying thought.

Charlie puts on her best “vice president” face and approaches slowly, trying hard not to show any fear as she gets closer, surely less than half the size of the man she’s approaching. “Well, well, well,” she says firmly, the moment she’s able to be heard, and everyone jumps at once, turning to face her. “Fancy meeting you all here.”

The man moves swiftly, lifting his arm to point the machine gun in her face. Charlie holds her hands up in the air, but doesn’t falter. “If it ain’t Charlotte Shinra herself,” he growls.

“If you shoot me, you’ll all be slaughtered before we dock,” Charlie hisses, and that’s enough to give the man pause, lowering his arm slightly. She glances towards his friends, their faces still hidden, but up close, she can tell that two of them are women. “Aren’t you one short? What happened to the creature you had with you the night my father was murdered?”

“Don’t think you’re really in any position to be askin’ questions, _Shinra_.”

“You’re aboard a Shinra ship right now. If anyone has the right to ask questions, it’s me. And I have plenty.”

“Go ahead. Ask away,” the man says threateningly. 

Charlie clenches her jaw, lowering her hands back to her sides and glancing around. “We need to talk.”

The gun-armed man turns to his friends. None of them go to remove their masks, which would make Charlie feel much better, but she isn’t going to ask Avalanche to expose themselves in the open right now. 

“I’m going to take your collective silence to mean you agree not to kill me?” she continues, growing irritated and sighing. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had the chance to tell Rufus that you’re all on board, otherwise you would all be dead by now. Besides, did you really believe that you would go unnoticed in _that_ outfit?”

He looks slightly offended, looking down at himself. “All right, fine, but you got three minutes and then I’m callin’ it. Time starts now.”

“Not here, where everyone can see and hear us, you moron,” she snaps. “Come with me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Charlie leads them discreetly through the cargo hold and to her own small cabin, where everyone seems to feel safe enough to remove their helmets, revealing themselves at last to her. 

One of the women is the bartender from Seventh Heaven, shaking out her long, dark hair and making a soft sound of disgust as she wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of a gloved hand. 

To Charlie’s surprise, the other woman is also recognizable. Of course, she had been on the rooftop the night of her father’s brutal murder, but she had been far too out of sorts after witnessing such a graphic scene to really take in the members of Avalanche who had come for Rufus. 

However, Charlie remembers very clearly seeing the girl before, the night the plate had fallen. They had both turned a corner and run right into each other before darting off again. 

The third member that removes his helmet is none other than the young man who had carried Angeal’s sword through the reactor on live television. She almost abandons her train of thought altogether at the sight of him, sweat-soaked and flushed, just to ask about the sword, but when she catches his eye, she almost forgets what she had been meaning to say completely.

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment. Charlie would recognize eyes like that anywhere. 

“I bet you get that all the time,” she had said, all those years ago, upon being able to _really_ look into his eyes for the first time, inches away from his face, privately hoping he would kiss her after confessing she thought his eyes were pretty.

But he had laughed, smiling at her. “Not from pretty girls, anyway.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

His eyes were so blue. Not pale like her own, but vibrant, rich, pretty. _He_ was pretty. “I think you _know_ you’re pretty.”

Lost in thought, it takes Charlie a moment to realize that she’s been staring very hard at the poor boy and his mako-infused eyes. “You’re a SOLDIER,” she whispers, as if this is some terrible secret. 

He nods curtly. “Yeah, _ex_ -SOLDIER.”

She tries to remember if she had ever seen him before, but given that she spent more time with the First Class SOLDIERs than the rest of them, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to recall even a name. “What class?” she asks. 

The boy doesn’t hesitate. “First Class.”

“First Class?” Charlie repeats, surprised. 

That can’t be right. She knew the First Class SOLDIERs, was very familiar with them, and after the mass desertion and after Sephiroth had died, her father had urged the new director to promote a few Second Class SOLDIERs in order to fill the roles. As far as she knows, this boy hadn’t been one of them.

“What’s your name?” she asks again. “I don’t remember you.”

He hesitates this time. “Cloud. Cloud Strife.”

Charlie thinks hard, but she’s interrupted by the gun-armed man yelling in her ear. “Hey! Shinra! Your time’s tickin’, kid. Better be fast.”

_Why is this so hard?_ Maybe it’s because she has one of the biggest men she’s ever seen breathing hard down her neck, waiting for her to say something offensive, waiting for her to threaten them, she’s sure. 

Or maybe it’s the thought that she’s actually going to go through with this. Is it crazy? Is it completely insane? No . . . not insane. She needs help, and the only people who can help her are the people standing in her cabin with her, staring at her with wide eyes and waiting for her to start speaking.

“I know you’re all tracking Sephiroth,” she begins, breathing a little too heavily. “It’s what the Turks have been ordered to do, as well, so what I ask of you shouldn’t be an issue. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but if there was another way . . .”

Cloud and the doe-eyed girl exchange the briefest of looks, while the bartender and the gun-armed man never look away from Charlie. “Look, I dunno if you’ve heard,” the big man says again, “but our stance is pretty anti-Shinra at the moment. We haven’t forgotten ‘bout the plate.”

“I know,” she replies, looking up into his face. “And I am so sorry. And I know that will never be enough, but you have to believe me, I begged my father not to drop the plate.” 

“Barret . . .” The bartender places a hand on the man’s forearm as he opens his mouth to speak again. Her voice is soft, gentle, and slightly concerned. 

Perhaps she’s afraid of what Charlie could do to them, but she wouldn’t dream of hurting them or putting them in danger, not while they’re able to help her. 

“I need you to bring me to the Turks. I’ll pay you, handsomely, but only if you can do that.” 

There’s a silence that hangs heavy over the five of them, and then Barret scoffs. “We ain’t for hire,” he tells her, putting his good hand on his hip. It might be more intimidating if he wasn’t wearing a sailor suit. “We ain’t a Shinra delivery service, and we definitely don’t want your blood money.”

Cloud, arms crossed over his chest, looks skeptical. “What do you need from the Turks?”

Charlie is afraid of revealing too much information, but she needs to tell them _something_ if this is going to work. “It’s not really all of the Turks that I need,” she explains, knowing that it won’t be enough. “I need you to bring me to Tseng.”

“Let me get this straight,” Barret answers, narrowing his eyes at her. “You want us, Avalanche, to drop the vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company at the feet of some Turk, right?” When Charlie nods, he presses on. “And you expect us to believe we’ll get paid for that? Maybe with a bullet in the back of our heads the second we turn around.”

“If I tell Tseng not to kill you, he won’t. Once I explain everything, I swear, we’ll go our separate ways.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Cloud interrupts, shifting uncomfortably in the uniform he wears. She wishes he had the sword on him, just so she could take a look at it one last time. “Why do you need us to bring you to the Turks?”

Charlie looks around at them all again. She’s uncomfortable with the way the doe-eyed girl looks at her, instead settling her gaze on Cloud, looking into familiar eyes that bring her some comfort, despite him not being Angeal.

What is she supposed to say? That she’s running away? “I’m not safe with my brother,” she whispers, and it shocks herself to hear it said. She’s _always_ felt safe with her brother. “And I think Tseng is the only one left who can do something about it. Now, I know you met up with them at the Mythril Mines, so you’re sure to meet again on the road, and I’m not asking you to throw me at his feet. I just need to get close enough that I don’t have to worry about making the entire journey myself.”

“What are you going to do once you get to the Turks?” Cloud raises an eyebrow, and she knows none of them believe her. Well, maybe at least one of them does, judging by the way the mousy-haired girl is staring at her. “What are they supposed to do about Rufus?”

She doesn’t have an answer. Her entire plan is based around the assumption that she’ll be able to break Tseng, to bend him just slightly enough to help her, to protect her, to see that Rufus is a threat to his own sister. If she can’t break him, then would he see her as just another traitor, associating with Avalanche?

“To be honest,” Barret says, sitting down on the bed made up for Charlie. The mattress groans heavily beneath his weight, and she fears that the entire frame may collapse. “I don’t give a shit ‘bout your safety, Shinra. Find someone else to be your bodyguard.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be married soon?” the bartender asks kindly, and Charlie feels warm around the neck. Talking about Reeve might make her cry, even in front of all these people. “What about him?”

Charlie sighs, smiling weakly. It would take far too long to explain the true contempt Reeve and Rufus feel for each other. “He and my brother . . . they don’t really get along,” she says, deciding to keep it relatively vague for now. “I can’t ask him to help me. I can’t put him in danger like that. I won’t be responsible for killing him.”

“Good to see where your priorities lie.” Barret gets to his feet, straining his sailor’s suit. She decides it’s not a good look for him. “Can’t put your jackass boyfriend in danger, but you didn’t give a shit ‘bout the people who were crushed below the plate, huh? You didn’t care when _they_ were in danger, did you?”

At the mention of the plate drop, Charlie stiffens. Whirling around to face Barret, she stares him dead in the eyes. “I didn’t drop the plate. You don’t know anything about me or my ‘jackass boyfriend’, who’s one hundred times the man _you_ are.”

“Say that again,” Barret growls, stepping so close to her that she has to crane her neck back to look up into his face.

“Fine,” she says mockingly, raising her eyebrows and speaking slower. “My ‘jackass boyfriend’ is one hundred times the man you are. Happy?”

“I can’t _believe_ we’re even entertainin’ this idea right now!” he shouts at large, and Charlie wants to shush him, but he might snap if she speaks again and start firing. “You hear her? Her Shinra-lovin’ boyfriend must be a _real_ catch, huh? Bet he’s happy fattenin’ his pockets with your daddy’s blood money, ain’t he? Yeah, look at that goddamn rock on your finger. Didn’t give a shit ‘bout all them people, either, did he?”

“ _Excuse_ me,” Charlie hisses, her chest feeling ready to explode with the rate her heart is going. “My ‘Shinra-loving boyfriend’ has been working tirelessly to rebuild the city, not to mention he helped _your_ innocent victims to safety the night you bombed reactor one. How many people did _you_ help that night?”

“He probably _profited_ off all those deaths in some way, I’m sure—”

“He begged my father not to drop the plate—”

“But he did anyway, and I didn’t see y’all fightin’ atop that pillar with us to try and stop it.” 

“Barret, she was in the slums the night the plate fell,” comes a high-pitched voice. Charlie turns to look at the girl, thankful that she’s chosen now to speak up. “She was helping evacuate. She told the guards to open the gates to Wall Market. We ran right into each other.” She offers Charlie a small smile that isn’t returned, no matter how grateful she is.

“Yeah, and you should’a been crushed with the rest of ‘em. They didn’t get the chance to fly off in a fancy helicopter ‘fore the plate dropped.”

“I didn’t run away, if that’s what you’re implying,” Charlie retorts, feeling as if this was a very bad idea, trapping herself in a small cabin full of people, one of them with a weapon. 

“It’s true, Barret,” the girl says again, and Charlie frowns. “When Tseng found me, she was already unconscious in the back of the helicopter. She didn’t run. An explosion knocked her out.”

“I see how it is,” Barret says again, and the bartender has the grace to look slightly apologetic, holding her hands behind her back. “So you want us to bring you to the same Turk that kidnapped Aerith?”

Charlie pauses, turning to look back at the girl again, looking her up and down. She’s pretty enough for a slum girl, Charlie supposes, with long, thick hair and a pink bow that seems very worn. Her eyes are a bit big for her slender and narrow face, her nose is long and thin, and there seems to be a quiet defiance about her.

“Aerith,” Charlie says, mostly to herself. She’s heard that name before, but in passing, and she can’t quite remember the context of the conversation. It was years ago now. “Are you the Ancient?”

Aerith smiles slightly coyly. “So you’ve heard of me?” She holds a hand up to her mouth, laughing softly behind her fingers. “I’ve heard of you, too. The kids at the Leaf House love you. Megga said she was promised the job of flower girl at your wedding.”

Charlie swells with pride. She misses the children. “I certainly didn’t promise her that, but she’s more than welcome to have the job.”

“I don’t know about this,” Cloud interrupts, looking up to Barret, who nods slightly in return. “We can’t afford to be sidetracked, and traveling with the vice president is only going to make it more difficult to go unnoticed.”

Exhaling loudly, Charlie’s nostrils flare as anger surges through her. “Fine. I asked nicely, and now I’m not asking anymore.” She straightens, looking around at them all. “Take me with you when you dock, or I’ll tell my brother, the _president_ , that Avalanche is on board this ship.”

Barret scowls, brandishing the gun on his arm, preparing to shoot. “Why you little—”

“Even if you kill me now, none of you will leave this boat alive,” Charlie reminds him, and she means it. She knows that Rufus will punish them all cruelly, even Aerith the Ancient, but that doesn’t mean she’s prepared to die. “I know my brother. In a little while, when he’s done with his little meeting, he’ll come here to make sure I haven’t run off. And if he sees my body, riddled with bullets . . . well . . .” She gestures with her chin towards Barret’s arm. “I can’t imagine it would be very difficult for them to find the perpetrator.” 

“And how do we know you ain’t just gonna spy on us? How can we trust you?” Barret asks, sounding thoroughly disgruntled with his lack of a choice. “How do we know that you ain’t gonna kill us all in our sleep?”

“You just have to trust me. I can’t make the journey alone. I need you, and if you help me, I could be a good friend to you, as well.”

“Trust you? Trust a _Shina_ ? What the hell could you do for _us_ that wouldn’t involve benefittin’ off your company’s sins?”

“You don’t think you can trust me? You think I’m such an enemy of the people?” Charlie hisses, furious with the way Barret throws these accusations around, like she’s just like her father, like she’s just like _Rufus._ “It might surprise you to know that I’ve been collaborating with Avalanche for three years.”

“What?” the bartender asks breathily, blinking in surprise. “Barret, you didn’t know about this?”

Barret scoffs. “She’s lyin’. If Charlotte goddamn Shinra was workin’ with Avalanche, I think I would’a known.”

Charlie shakes her head, pleased to see that this information makes them all slightly wary. “Pia was never spying on me,” she confesses. “I was feeding Pia information the entire time.”

“Yeah?” Barret’s face hardens at the mention of Pia. “And what happened to her? You execute her just like you promised?”

The mere suggestion is enough to enrage her. “No,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry. Sephiroth killed her.” Tseng had told her that. 

“Ain’t no one to back up your story, then.”

Charlie sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair, hoping to appeal to the bartender. “You know me, don’t you?” she asks, almost desperately. Talking with Barret is exhausting. “You’ve seen me and my fiancé at the bar, haven’t you? We’re good people, trying to help others. But there’s nothing we can do for the people if we’re both dead.”

“I . . . don’t know,” the bartender replies carefully, looking around at her friends. “They did start construction on the housing project, before it was destroyed. A lot of people went topside after being offered jobs.” 

“Look, you have to tr—”

Charlie is cut off by the sound of a blaring alarm echoing throughout the cabin and ship. Her hands jump to her ears, and her heart begins to race. Barret lifts his arm again to point the gun at her. 

“What did you do, Shinra?” he shouts, nudging her shoulder with it. Charlie tears herself away from him. 

Over the loudspeaker in the corner of the cabin, someone’s voice rings out, drowning out all other sound. “ _Emergency alert! Reports of a suspicious character found! Those not on detail, search the ship and report when found!_ ”

“You fuckin’ told them we were here!”

“I didn’t do _anything!_ ”

“ _I repeat! Suspicious character found on board! Those not on detail, search the ship! Report when found!_ ”

Charlie steps up to the door, peeking through the small window to make sure no one is coming. Rufus will surely be here soon, making sure that she’s all right. “You guys need to leave,” she tells them all, swinging the door open and stepping aside. “ _Now_. If Rufus sees several guards staggering out of my cabin, he’ll have us all killed.”

“Come on,” Cloud says, pulling his helmet back over his face. “Let’s go. The others might be in trouble.”

_The others?_ _Not just the creature?_

She watches them all file out, their faces covered again, trailing after Barret, who continues to grumble under his breath about some “piece of shit Shinra”. Charlie doesn’t say another word to them, but one of the women stops at the end, and with her face covered, and she’s only recognizable as Aerith when she speaks, her voice slightly muffled.

“You think Tseng can help you?” she asks, and Charlie blushes fiercely, feeling as if she’s being accused of something. 

Charlie pauses, swallowing hard, and Aerith takes hold of her hands. The gesture shocks her, and part of her wants to pull away and hit her across the face, but she suppresses the urge.

No one else is listening. Cloud, Barret, and the bartender have left them, and only Aerith will hear her answer. “I have nowhere else to go,” she confesses quietly, feeling Aerith’s hands tightening around her own. “And I’m afraid. Tseng’s been looking after me for a long time.”

“Okay,” Aerith says, giving Charlie a curt nod. “I’ll talk to them. I promise. Come find us again when we dock, Madam Vice President.”

Though it’s said teasingly, it’s more respect than the others had shown her. Charlie’s heart swells. “Okay. I will.”


	30. Chapter 30

“You messed up big time, Heidegger.”

Charlie stands at her brother’s side, privately very pleased with the way Heidegger seems to cower in the shadow of her brother. No doubt he hasn’t yet mentally recovered from the beating he had taken in the hangar at Junon (his pride had taken a beating, as well, she’s sure), holding his hands behind his back and maintaining a quiet dignity that looks on the verge of cracking. 

Heidegger swallows hard, glancing from Rufus to Charlie and back again. He murmurs something to Rufus, quietly enough that no one else on the dock will hear, not even Charlie herself.

“What was that?” Rufus asks, stepping closer to Heidegger, who lowers his head in shame. “I don’t think my sweet sister heard you, Heidegger. Speak up this time.”

“I’m ashamed of myself,” he grumbles, flushing beet red. 

Rufus scoffs, clearly unhappy with the response he’s gotten. Truthfully, Charlie thinks Heidegger probably deserves another beating. Not only had he failed to notice Avalanche sneaking aboard, which could have ended far worse than it did, there had been rumors that _Sephiroth_ had hitched a ride on their ship, which also could have ended far worse than it did. 

“Is that all you can do?” Rufus snarls in his greasy, bearded face. “Give one word answers and apologize for everything?” 

Heidegger averts his eyes, looking very nervous under Rufus’s scrutiny. He remains silent, which is a good thing, in Charlie’s opinion. If he says another one word or apologizes again, she can’t really guarantee that Rufus will let him walk off without another fresh bruise. 

“Heidegger, look at my beautiful sister. Look at how lovely she is.”

Lifting his beetle-black eyes to meet Charlie’s, Heidegger almost scowls, forgetting himself. If Rufus notices, he says nothing.

“Consider yourself lucky she’s still alive. If something had happened to my sister because of your ineptitude, you would never have walked off that ship alive, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Do you have anything to say to my sweet sister, you bumbling moron?”

Charlie doesn’t look away from Heidegger. She doesn’t really think she would be all that upset if Rufus shot him like he shot Palmer. “Forgive me, Madam Vice President,” he says, sincerely enough. “I am so grateful that you weren’t hurt. I am so pleased to see you’re alive.”

“Get out of here,” Rufus snaps, clearly not as pleased with Heidegger’s apology as Charlie. “It’s been a long trip, and your talking has given me a headache. Have a helicopter readied for me. If it’s not ready by the time I come back from seeing my lovely sister home safely, then I think we need to have a long chat about your future, Heidegger.”

“Yes, Mr. President. Right away.”

By the time Rufus gets her back to the villa, it’s late afternoon, and Charlie is eager to call Reeve and let him know that they’ve docked safely. She wants to see him again, to love him, to kiss him, to fall asleep beside him. 

This opportunity to have all of these things, for what may be the last time, is important to her, but the thought of him is quickly pushed from the forefront of her mind the moment Rufus closes the door of the beach house behind him.

Rufus is furious. He’s apoplectic, incandescent, _seething_. He’s angrier than even that, and Charlie can’t discern whether he’s angry with Avalanche, Heidegger, Sephiroth, or her. His nostrils are flared and his pupils look blown out, more black than blue. 

“He’s an idiot,” she says, laughing nervously and looking up into her brother’s face. When he doesn’t respond, she reaches up to place her hands on his shoulders. “Do you want to kiss me? We’re all alone now.”

It’s desperate, she knows, but it’s the only thing she can think of that might calm him down. Unfortunately, it seems that today is the one day Rufus doesn’t want to kiss her. 

Charlie tries her hardest not to look guilty, taking a few careful steps towards the stairs, hoping to lock herself in her bedroom until his anger subsides or until he leaves. She wonders if he knows about her having communicated a desire to escape to Avalanche. 

Had there been cameras in her cabin? Had someone been watching? Had someone been spying on her? She thought she would be safe surrounded by people who weren’t technically on Rufus’s payroll like the Turks, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had underestimated Rufus, and she certainly won’t do so again.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” she asks quietly, hesitating at the foot of the wide staircase that will lead her to safety. 

“No,” Rufus answers in a low voice, walking slowly towards her. 

Instinctively, Charlie takes another step back, continuing her slow, backwards ascent up the stairs with Rufus chasing equally as slowly after her. “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t know what I would have done if Sephiroth had gotten to you.”

“Oh?” Rufus huffs, continuing the chase, moving up the stairs with her.

“Yes,” she breathes, her heart beating painfully fast. “You know that I love you. You know that I love you more than anything, Rufus.”

Rufus’s face hardens, a scowl forming upon his face, twisting his handsome features cruelly. He looks like their father, and it frightens her. Doesn’t he remember how much she loves him? Doesn’t he remember all the times she had snuck into his bedroom to prove it in some childish and fumbling way? 

“I know you had something to do with Avalanche being on board that ship,” she snarls, just as Charlie reaches the second floor landing. It’s only a short way to her bedroom, but she doesn’t dare run, not wanting to show fear, but that task seems impossible now. 

“I didn’t,” she protests, nearly panting, bumping against the wall lightly. “I was with you all this morning, Rufus. You know that.” He doesn’t stop following her. “I have a phone call to make now,” she says stupidly, hoping he’ll leave her alone. 

The moment Charlie finds the door to her bedroom, she opens it quickly, attempting to slip in and slam the door shut on her brother, but Rufus stops it, splaying a palm against the wooden door with a strength far superior to her own. As that strength seems to fail him, with Charlie’s entire body weight pressing against the door, Rufus rams his shoulder into it, knocking her back onto the floor. 

“Going to call _Reeve_ , sister?” he hisses, kicking the bedroom door closed behind her and reaching down to tangle his fingers in her hair, pulling hard enough for a dry sob to escape her, tears stinging her eyes. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Stop!” she pleads, whimpering as Rufus pulls her to her feet by the hair, making her stumble. The force of his grip makes her neck ache. “You’re hurting me, Rufus, please—”

“Don’t lie to me, Charlie,” he snaps, never releasing her hair. “You and that spineless bastard have been plotting against me from the very beginning.” He doesn’t wait to hear her answer. “You’ve always wanted Father’s seat, playing president with your husband, who will bend over backwards to accommodate your every wish. Isn’t that right?”

“I had nothing to do with Avalanche being on board, and Reeve doesn’t—”

Rufus tugs sharply again, silencing her as she hisses in pain. “You will not marry that man, Charlotte. Is that clear? That’s an order from your _president_.”

“You can’t tell me what to do or who to marry—”

With another tug of her hair, Rufus pulls her closer. 

“Rufus, stop it! You’re hurting me!” Charlie struggles, attempting to pull away from him, reaching with one hand for his wrist, letting him see her tears now. Let him see that he’s hurting her. Let him see what he’s doing to her. “Let go!”

Without even really thinking about it, Charlie’s right hand comes around fast and hard, striking her brother in the face hard enough that the following _crack!_ of skin against skin seems to echo in her bedroom. 

For a moment afterwards, there is only silence. Rufus doesn’t release her hair and Charlie’s fingers are still wrapped tight around his wrist, and for a long time, or what seems like a long time, they stare at each other. Charlie breathes heavily onto his mouth, eyes wide with fear. 

She’s never struck her brother before, and after Rufus is able to digest what’s just happened, he goes into a blind rage. 

He does end up letting go of her hair, the nape of her neck sore from the stress of it, but he doesn’t leave. Rufus hits her hard across the face and his hand jumps to her neck before she stops seeing stars, wrapping long and spindly fingers around her throat. 

She thinks he’s going to strangle her right here and right now, cutting off her airflow, but he only shoves her hard, throwing her back onto the bed. Charlie’s left cheek already feels swollen, and it stings so badly that she can’t hold back the steady stream of tears any longer. 

“You’re going to pay for that,” he says coldly, pale eyes flashing in the lamplight. “You’ve been spending too much time with the director, I think.” Rufus takes a few steps closer to the bed, and Charlie scoots backwards as far as she can, until her back is up against the corner of the wall. “He’s been turning you against me from the beginning, hasn’t he?”

“He hasn’t been turning me against you!” she screams, hoping that Reeve isn’t already on his way here. “Leave him alone! He has nothing to do with this!”

Rufus scoffs, considering her for a moment before making for his belt, unbuckling it with deft hands and flicking his neck to get his hair out of his eyes.

“No,” she croaks, her tongue suddenly feeling very heavy, her head still hurting something fierce, and her cheek swelling rapidly. Charlie clamps her legs together without even thinking about it, kicking out one of her feet to keep him back. “No, Rufus, please—”

Rufus hesitates after sliding his belt off, laughing breathlessly at the state of her. “Is that what you think I’m going to do?” he asks, laughing again when Charlie refuses to answer. “I suppose you have bad memories associated with this bedroom, don’t you? This is where it happened, isn’t it? Where that bastard _raped_ my own sister—”

“He didn’t rape me!” she shouts, closing her eyes as he raises the belt. It comes down to strike her in the thigh, and even through her clothes, it still stings. “Leave him out of this!”

“Who gave him the _right!_ ” Rufus brings the belt down again, the leather cracking against the side of her calf this time. “Who gave him the _right_ to touch you!”

“ _I_ did! _I_ gave him that right!”

“And he thought he would just _get away_ with that?” He makes a grab at her ankle when she goes to kick him again, pulling her closer even as she scrambles to get away. “I’ve been waiting _ten_ years to wring that brute’s neck. He has no idea what I could do to him—”

“Leave him alone!” Her words are shrill, and the very idea of Rufus even laying a finger on Reeve sends a jolt of terror through her. She knows that Rufus would not be content with a quick end to things, not with the Turks at his disposal, who wouldn’t dare balk at such a heinous request. 

Would they?

“Stop kicking!” Rufus barks, pulling her leg so hard she nearly falls right off the bed. 

Charlie reaches out to hit him again, hoping to stagger him just long enough for her to escape, but he bats her hand away and swats her hard across the face once more. They struggle again for a moment, the belt slipping from Rufus’s hand as he takes hold of her wrists, pinning them down to the mattress, his chest heaving.

“Goddamnit, Char! You’re making me angry!”

“If you touch him, I’ll kill myself, I _swear_ I will—”

“You don’t have the stomach—”

“Want to find out?” 

Charlie takes a moment to catch her breath, hardly able to move. She feels exhausted, and with her arms trapped and his legs weighing heavy on her own, escape is impossible. 

“Don’t hurt him,” she pleads, happy with a thousand beatings if it means sparing Reeve the burden. “Please, Rufus, don’t hurt him, I’ll do anything you want, I promise, I swear. He’s done nothing wrong. Please don’t hurt him, _please_.”

Something flickers across Rufus’s face. He blinks a few times, looking down into her eyes, looking at her cheek and up at the wrists he has pinned above her head. 

And then, without warning or another word spoken, Rufus releases her quickly, as if she’s burned him. Charlie sits up slowly, afraid to move. Her wrists are bright red where his fingertips had dug into her skin, and her cheek hurts something awful, throbbing in time with her heart. The places where his belt had caught her legs still sting, pink against her pale skin. 

“Charlie,” he breathes, looking far less angry, but no less dangerous. Some of his hair falls into his eyes, but he flicks it out of his face almost without realizing it. Rufus kneels before her, placing his hands upon her smarting thighs. “Are we turning into Mother and Father?”

She doesn’t answer. She will not give him that satisfaction now.

But when he leans forward between her open legs to rest his forehead against her stomach and wraps his arms around her waist, Charlie can’t help herself. She runs her trembling fingers through his hair and scratches gently at the back of his head, listening to the sounds of their loud breathing. 

Charlie lets her eyes flutter closed. It feels impossible to catch her breath, not with Rufus still so close to her, nuzzling against her like they’re children again. 

The truth is, Charlie _does_ think they’re turning into their parents, and it’s equal parts frightening and expected. She doesn’t remember much about her mother that doesn’t revolve around space or screaming matches, and to be reduced to only those two things would be humiliating. 

Her father and mother really loved each other once. She knows it for certain now. It’s been hard to believe sometimes, but she understands now, better than ever before. 

She and Rufus used to really love each other, too.

“Father’s gone, Charlie,” he murmurs against her.

Charlie swallows hard, looking down at the top of her little brother’s head. Sometimes she forgets that _he’s_ the little one. 

“I know,” she whispers. “But we’ll be all right.”

There’s a silence that seems to go on forever, and Rufus never moves from his position, kneeling on the floor with his face pressed against her stomach and his arms trapping her in place. 

And then, Charlie hears the unmistakable sound of a muffled sob, watching her brother’s back jump as he cries hoarsely against her. She hasn’t seen or heard Rufus cry in over ten years. She can’t even remember why he might have cried, nor does she remember how she comforted him the last time she actually bore witness to something so tender and vulnerable. 

She continues to thread her fingers through his hair for a few minutes, and when he starts to calm down, his sobs lessening, Charlie carefully pulls his head back from her stomach by pulling his hair just like he does to her (albeit much more gently). 

Looking down into the pale and tear-stained face of the president, Charlie takes in his bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes, the slight pout playing at his lips. His cheek is still pink where she had slapped him. She hasn’t held this much power over him in years, and the idea that he’s willingly allowing her that power makes her feel . . . 

She doesn’t quite know how it makes her feel. She feels shame bubbling in her stomach, and satisfaction and desire and confusion. She’s repulsed, but not by her brother, by _herself_.

She wishes Reeve were here to drag her away, to keep her away from Rufus, to remind her of what he’s just done. He hadn’t meant it. He had only been angry and afraid, still reeling from the news Heidegger had given them about their unexpected guests. When she thinks about all the beatings her brother had taken for her in the past, Charlie thinks this one is long overdue.

She even leans in slightly, watching his neck crane up as if expecting something from her, trying to put his face as close to hers as possible. 

She can’t allow herself to fall back into something like this, no matter how familiar and comforting it may be. Life has changed for the both of them now, and they’ve grown older and moved on.

Or, _she_ has, at least.

Her heart is racing. It’s hard to accept the fact that Rufus has just beaten her, now so small and eager for comfort, crying against her. He’s sorry, and she knows it, even if the words don’t leave his lips. 

Charlie leans forward, resting her forehead against her brother’s, closing her eyes. His breath comes shakily, hot against her lips, sounding like breathing at all is a chore for him, judging by the way he inhales and exhales deeply like his life depends on it. 

Something about being back in the villa, alone, where she and Rufus spent so much time together as children, and something about the way he brushes the tip of his nose against her own, makes her heart ache painfully, aching for days forgotten, aching for simpler times, when their father was alive. 

Veld had known. Veld had always known, ever since he had walked into Charlie’s bedroom to find them playfully kissing each other. He had taken great pains to have them separated, always insisting that Rufus go with their father to Midgar, on business trips, anywhere in the world that wasn’t at his sister’s side.

Charlie opens her eyes again and pulls away from him, skating her fingertips lightly over his cheekbone, privately pleased that she’s left him with a mark of her disobedience for the entire world to see. The both of them now will be forced to wear bruises like trophies, and no one possesses the power to ask about it without consequence. She’s certain that if anyone brings up the mark on Rufus’s face, he’ll beat them just as mercilessly as he had Heidegger.

“I want you back in Midgar tomorrow,” he whispers, and it is not a request, but a hushed command meant to _sound_ like a request. He’s daring her to defy him, and Charlie isn’t sure how much defiance will be left in her if Rufus continues on the way he has been. “I have other business that will keep me from the city for a few days.”

“Be careful,” she tells him.

Rufus gets to his feet and brushes himself off, pushing his fingers through his hair to set it back into place. “I’ve already made a few phone calls back to Headquarters. You’re going to have a few SOLDIERs at your side and outside your apartment until I return. I’m not taking any risks.”

“You could always just clear my name.”

His jaw clenches tight, angry all over again, likely humiliated after his little display of weakness. “In time, sister,” he says quietly. “When I feel you’ve earned it.”

* * *

With a few hours of daylight remaining to her, and a few hours until Reeve will arrive, Charlie decides to take advantage of her newfound independence and packs for the beach, hoping to find a secluded place for her to sunbathe and listen to the waves until the sun sets.

She does her best with makeup to hide the evidence of Rufus’s abuse on her face, but there are still fresh bruises around her wrists and neck, little fingertip-sized ones that won’t go unnoticed if someone takes a good look at her, like Reeve probably will. 

What she doesn’t expect to find at the beach is the Ancient—what was her name again? Aerith, she suddenly remembers, and Aerith’s back is to her, changed out of the uniform she had been wearing on the ship, and back into a cheap pink dress that looks almost like the one she had been wearing the night the plate dropped.

She’s looking at something, tilting her head back and forth. Charlie steps up to her side, following her line of sight to a gaggle of young women dressed in tiny bikinis, seemingly surrounding someone. 

For a moment, she thinks it might be Rufus, but she catches sight of a man with dark hair through two bodies that move apart at the right time. It’s a man that she recognizes, a thrill of terror running through her body, especially when she notices Aerith take a step towards him.

Instinctively, Charlie moves forward and reaches out, only wanting to stop Aerith from making a huge mistake. She wraps her fingers around the girl’s wrist, holding her back. “Aerith, wait!” she hisses.

“Miss Shinra?” When Aerith pulls her wrist away, Charlie releases her instantly. “Gods! What happened to you?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” she snaps, putting an end to _that_ conversation before it can begin. “What are you doing?”

Aerith glances over her shoulder, as if to make certain Hojo hasn’t left. “What’s Professor Hojo doing here? Shouldn’t he be in Midgar?”

Not wanting to reveal too much information to a common girl from the slums ( _not_ _a common girl,_ she reminds herself, _an Ancient_ ), Charlie hesitates. “He’s taken a temporary leave of absence, I think,” she replies. “Maybe I should go talk to him. It’s not safe for you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Aerith smiles, looking far braver than Charlie feels. Surely Aerith knows what Professor Hojo is capable of, having been his prisoner for a brief time, but Charlie has grown up with the dark rumors that have surrounded Hojo since he started working for Shinra. “We’ll go together. I’ll be safe with the vice president with me, won’t I?”

This gives Charlie pause again. With the Turks dispatched on a mission far away from Costa del Sol, and with Rufus currently on his way to wherever he’s going, she doesn’t really think there’s any danger in being seen with Aerith. It’s not like anyone here knows that she’s an Ancient, and Professor Hojo has never cared about who Charlie has surrounded herself with before.

“Okay,” Charlie answers, feeling protective of her. She would feel too guilty if something happened to Aerith, something that brought her back into captivity in the Shinra Building. “Stay behind me, though. We’ll be quick. What do you want to talk to him for anyway?”

Aerith purses her lips, but doesn’t look at all upset that Charlie has asked. Perhaps she had been too forward. “Do you think he knows about Ancients?”

“I don’t know. But I think he might know something about Sephiroth.”

Despite Charlotte’s protests that Aerith stay behind her, the girl doesn’t listen. It’s infuriating and annoying, but it’s no use arguing about it. With Professor Hojo looking so comfortable among his circle of young women, it’s unlikely he’ll do anything to hurt either of them. 

Charlie clears her throat loudly, crossing her arms over her chest. The few women fawning over Hojo (still fully dressed with a lab coat draped over his shoulders and still completely unfortunate looking) look up, gasping. 

“Oh, look, Professor! It’s the vice president!”

Professor Hojo opens his eyes, looking at both she and Aerith through his round, tinted glasses. He hums, his wide mouth curling into something between a scowl and a sneer, the smile not at all extending to his eyes. 

Sitting up slightly in his chair, he fixes his gaze on Charlie while the other women continue their incessant chatter. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am!”

“I _loved_ the interview you gave in _Coast to Coast_ , ma’am!”

“Let us see the ring, ma’am! It looks _so_ beautiful in the pictures!”

A fair-skinned girl with short dark hair blushes prettily. “Can we get a picture with you, Madam Vice President?”

“No,” Charlie answers flatly, pleased with the way their cheeks all redden and their smiles all flicker. “Why don’t you girls leave us alone for a few minutes? I’d like to have a little chat with Professor Hojo.”

The women all look around awkwardly, but thankfully none of them decide to ignore her order. Gathering up their towels and wrapping themselves up, they all wander away slowly, looking back over their shoulders until they’re out of sight, headed back towards town. 

Professor Hojo sits up straighter, continuing to smile up at Charlie, eyes looking her up and down. Dark hair streaked with silver falls lank on either side of his face, the majority of it pulled back into a loose ponytail, and his smile does nothing to enhance his face, deeply lined and aged, his skin peeling where the sun has touched it. 

His eyes linger a little too long on the bruises, flicking between her wrists, throat, and cheek. “Like father, like son, yes?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. Charlie doesn’t give him an answer. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Madam Vice President? Have you come to ship me back to Midgar in the hopes of pleasing the president?”

“My brother has no interest in your well-being,” Charlie begins, offering him a small smile in return. “I don’t think he would care if you returned or not, and I’m certain he wouldn’t grieve if you turned up dead in the next couple of days.”

Professor Hojo doesn’t look to believe her. If anything, her threat is hardly amusing to him. 

“What are you doing here, Hojo? Your sudden resignation seemed very suspect, given the circumstances surrounding that night.”

“The _circumstances_ ,” he repeats in a hiss, as if this gives him great pleasure. “You would know all about those circumstances, wouldn’t you? I heard rumors that you had been in the president’s office when it happened. Can it be true? Did you see Sephiroth, Miss Shinra?”

“I did,” she admits. 

“And?” Hojo’s eyebrows shoot up towards his receding hairline. “What was it like?”

Charlie doesn’t really know what to say. Sephiroth’s appearance had been so sudden, so unexpected, so brief, that she hadn’t really had much time to dwell on it. He had spoken no more than a few words before disappearing, leaving only his sword behind and the bloody corpse of her father. 

“He looked just as he did five years ago, before leaving Headquarters for the last time.”

Professor Hojo almost looks disappointed by this description, and then, his lips curl upwards again into a malicious grin. “Refresh my memory,” he tells her, laughing to himself, “was it Sephiroth that took an interest in you?”

“No,” she replies, “it was Angeal.”

“Even _better_ ,” he cackles, making Charlie blush heatedly. “Hollander’s perfect monster . . . oh, I almost forgot about the merry band of failures that trailed after Sephiroth . . . Sephiroth was what Hollander _wanted_ Angeal to be.” His shoulders shake with laughter, which only makes her angrier. “I would have been interested in whatever offspring the two of you would have produced.”

“Angeal was no monster,” Charlie says coldly, the mere suggestion offensive. Angeal had never been anything of the sort—honorable and just, playful and polite. He had not asked for the life Hollander forcibly gave him, had not asked to be what he was, but to call him a monster . . . “He was a good man with a good heart.”

This makes Professor Hojo laugh harder. “All SOLDIERs are monsters, Miss Shinra. There is no difference between them. If you were given access to the reports, then you would know. What reason do I have to lie?” His words are painful, even more so because they come from _him_. “Your attachment to him caused . . . quite a stir. You must understand why, of course . . . the young and beautiful heiress to the Shinra Corporation could never find a happy life with a SOLDIER, especially a G-Type one, at that. When was the last time you saw him?”

Charlie knows he’s only goading her, sticking a finger into her broken and bleeding heart and twisting. She knows she shouldn’t answer, that answering him will give him control over the conversation, but she will not have it said that she didn’t defend Angeal’s honor, even after his death. 

She owes him that much, doesn’t she? Does she owe him anything at all? Their romance (if it could even be called such) was brief and seemingly doomed from the very beginning. Not so much as a kiss was exchanged between them—only lingering looks, playful smiles, innocent flirting and friendly touches, a few letters and pictures and unfulfilled promises. Angeal had never even returned to take her on the date he had spoken of before leaving on assignment. 

They had never spoken about a future, and the both of them knew very little about their backgrounds. Angeal had told her once, while they were eating lunch together in the cafeteria one day, that he had grown up very poor in a small village. And once, when they had both stayed behind after a training session with his friends, he had told her the story of the Buster Sword and what it meant to him. 

But she never told him anything about her own past. Charlie hates talking about her childhood, even now, but was able to come up with enough happy little anecdotes about the Turks to make him happy. 

_No, this is what Hojo wants,_ Charlie thinks to herself. _He wants me to be uncomfortable. He wants to be in control._

She tries very hard to keep her face a cold mask. “Seven years ago, before he left for Wutai.”

“And a few months later, he was announced killed in the line of duty, isn’t that right?” Professor Hojo sighs contently as Charlie’s heart starts to beat faster. “The word around Headquarters was that you were very heartbroken. Did you read the official report, Miss Shinra? Or the _real_ one?”

“I know what happened, Hojo. Tseng told me.”

“Yes,” he sneers. “Hollander’s failure nearly killed me, and your perfect monster returned to stop him, not once thinking of the girl who was waiting for him.”

“Stop it,” she says in a low voice, hands curling into fists at her sides. 

He taps his chin with a long finger. “And who was the director that took him from you again? Pray forgive me, Miss Shinra. I seem to have forgotten his name.”

“Lazard,” she responds. She knows he hasn’t forgotten. Tseng’s report had offered some damning information on Lazard, as well, but at the time of the writing, it had only been coerced information from Hollander and unconfirmed. 

“Yes . . .” Hojo strokes his chin, looking almost gleefully. “I always thought he looked like you, Miss Shinra.”

She blinks at him, taken aback by the sudden turn of conversation. “What does that have to do with anything?”

True, Lazard had been tall, blond, and unusually good-looking, and she had even tried to flirt with him once, but her innocent advances had been kindly spurned by him. But Charlie doesn’t think that makes any matter now, not all these years later. 

Professor Hojo doesn’t elaborate, only grins up at her as if waiting for her to figure it out. She can hardly stand still with the rapid beating of her heart. “Why would . . . ?” Charlie’s throat feels dry. “Lazard . . . ?”

“Your late father spoke often of the way you and your brother had the ‘Shinra look’ to you. The hair, the eyes, the nose, the jaw—oh, yes, all very familiar . . .”

Charlie falters, losing control. Her face still hurts from where Rufus hit her, and her head is spinning. Talking about Angeal has made her numb, or something close to it, and it’s hard to focus. 

Why can’t she breathe? Why is it so hard to catch her breath? It’s only Hojo—he’s only saying things to get a rise out of her, to mock her, to taunt her. 

“Was Lazard my . . . ?”

Charlie places a hand to her chest, her throat feeling very constricted, an icy fist wrapping around her heart. How could something like that be kept from her? How little does she know? How much does Rufus know? How much does _Reeve_ know? Everything? 

“Never noticed, did you?” he continues. “Was it willful blindness, I wonder, or a complete lack of observational skills? Either one would be plausible in your case, I think. Yes . . . the SOLDIER department was made up of monsters, failures, freaks, and bastards, all inferior to _him_ . . . to _Sephiroth_. If you doubt me, go ask your fiancé. He likely has the answers you seek.”

Charlie feels cool fingers against her forearm, a soft and gentle touch. “Stop it!” Aerith says, her voice making Charlie flinch. She’s almost forgotten Aerith was here at all. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?”

It’s only then that Hojo seems to notice Aerith standing at Charlie’s side, not at all concerned about the vice president’s well-being in the slightest. “Oh, I know you. You’re the Ancient, aren’t you?”

“My name is Aerith,” she answers firmly, eyebrows furrowed. “The least you could do is call me by my name.”

Professor Hojo hums. “What an interesting pair the two of you make. What are you up to, I wonder?” He waves a flippant hand in the air, as if it makes no matter to him what they do. “I confess, it’s an odd sight to see you without a Turk at your side, Miss Shinra. I wonder where they’ve gone . . .”

She isn’t about to tell him that the Turks are chasing Sephiroth, but she has the feeling that he already knows. 

If she _did_ have a Turk at her side, though, Hojo might be more inclined to talk. She wishes Tseng were here to beat an answer out of him for her. 

“What do you know about Sephiroth, Hojo? Both you _and_ the Jenova specimen went missing the same night Sephiroth killed my father.”

“Just what are you going to do about Sephiroth? And what do you think you want with the specimen?” Hojo frowns. He’s sweating underneath his clothes and lab coat, but at least he’s clothed. “I have decided that, with the end of an era and the beginning of a new reign, I will test a certain hypothesis of mine, now that the opportunity has arisen.”

Charlie pauses, expecting more. “And that hypothesis _is?_ ”

“I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand,” Hojo hisses, the scowl on his face only contorting his features into something more terrible. “I’ve been studying Jenova since before you were born, _Madam Vice President._ Have you ever even glanced at a report on Jenova in your life?” 

“Is Jenova an Ancient?” Aerith asks suddenly, curious and slightly afraid. 

Charlie waits impatiently for Hojo’s answer. 

“Is Sephiroth one?” she asks again when it takes too long for the professor to answer. 

Settling back into a more comfortable position in his chair, Professor Hojo sighs again, closing his eyes and speaking in a low voice. “You may find answers to the west,” he mumbles. “I heard a rumor that a man in a black cloak was headed that way, towards the Gold Saucer. Could it be . . . ?”

Charlie looks sideways at Aerith and frowns. “Let’s go,” she murmurs, tugging her arm away from Aerith’s fingers and making back the way they came.

She has no intention of relaxing on the beach now. Hojo’s words have had the intended effect on her—they’ve needled their way into her brain, making her think, making her want to scream and cry and hit something all at once. She doesn’t even know why she’s still walking with Aerith, an _Ancient_ , but is privately rather glad for some company. 

“So . . .” Aerith begins, holding her hands behind her back and leaning forward to get a better look at Charlie’s face. “Was Angeal your . . . boyfriend?”

Charlie feels her entire body go rigid. She’s touched a nerve. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Aerith is quiet for a moment or so, but can’t seem to help herself. “What class was he?”

This gives her pause. What harm could come from that? She’s only trying to be nice. “First Class.”

“Oh.” Aerith sighs, looking up at the darkening sky. “Did you know a lot of First Classes?”

Charlie slows her pace, slightly wary. “A few. Did you?”

She looks back into Charlie’s eyes, smiling. 

“What was his name? It’s not Cloud, is it?”

“No,” Aerith answers. “His name was Zack.”

_Zack,_ she repeats to herself. Charlie remembers now the conversation—the passing conversation between Cissnei and Zack, when she had teased him about an ‘Aerith’. 

She remembers Zack. Zack had wielded the Buster Sword after Angeal had gone missing, respectful of its meaning and determined to remain honorable. Charlie nods slowly, suddenly feeling much more at ease with Aerith. “Zack the Puppy,” she smiles. “That’s what Angeal called him.”

Aerith laughs, but Charlie thinks she sounds rather sad. 

“No,” Charlie blurts out apologetically. “Angeal wasn’t my boyfriend. Not really. But I liked him a lot.” She runs a hand through her hair, sighing. “Sorry. I don’t really like to talk about him.”

“Why not?”

Charlie shrugs. She doesn’t want to remember the way she felt about him. She doesn’t want to remember the way he had broken her heart. She doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on what could have been. 

“Why do you need to get to Tseng so badly?”

She can’t keep avoiding questions forever. It irritates her that Aerith thinks it’s fine to treat the _vice president_ with an obvious lack of respect, but blowing up in her face now would only hurt Charlie’s cause. 

“I have nowhere else to go,” she confesses as they approach the town center, looking around at the several carts set up with handmade merchandise and souvenirs. “Without my brother or my fiancé, Tseng is the closest thing to family I have left. The _Turks_ are the closest thing to a real family I’ve ever had.”

It’s strange to hear the words spoken aloud. The painful truth she’s been avoiding for so long. 

It’s also slightly embarrassing, telling Aerith that her “family” consists of the man who had kidnapped her the night the plate fell. The two of them seek shade under a palm tree that hovers over a nearby bench that faces the sea. 

“If I can just go with you, for a little, and find the Turks, I swear I’ll pay you for your trouble and we can go back to being enemies again,” Charlie says quickly, but Aerith doesn’t seem half so upset as Barret had been. “I’m not like them. I’m not like my father or my brother. Or at least . . . I’m trying not to be.”

“You don’t have to convince _me_ , you know. I told you, the kids at the Leaf House talk about you all the time.” She smiles warmly again. “You were the secret benefactor Ms. Folia mentioned, weren’t you?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Charlie nods. “Yes.” She doesn’t want to resort to begging. “If you do this for me, I’ll do everything I can to aid your search for Sephiroth.”

“Don’t you want answers, too, Miss Shinra?” Aerith asks, staring out at the sparkling water, watching the sun set. Charlie remembers she and Veld doing this when she was little, watching the sun set over the water while she ate ice cream and licked at her fingers when it began to melt. “Sephiroth killed your father—”

“President Shinra was _hardly_ my _father_ ,” Charlie snaps, unable the push away the image of her father’s shocked expression when she had crawled up to his bleeding body. “He didn’t raise me. He didn’t cook for me or comfort me when I was crying. He didn’t put me to bed or encourage me. That man was _not_ my father.”

And yet she had cried for him, briefly grieved for him, read through his stupid letters hoping that he would have written it somewhere in them, those three words she had never heard her father say before— _i love you_. Or some variant of that. 

“And I think I just found out that I had a half-brother,” she rambles, stuck on Hojo’s taunts. “And I don’t know how to feel about that. And Angeal—Angeal was _not_ a monster—I don’t care what that man says. What does _he_ know? He doesn’t know—” Charlie touches her chest, gasping for breathe. “Gods, what’s happening? Why can’t I . . . _breathe?_ ”

“It’s okay, Charlotte. Just take deep breaths.”

“Don’t call me—”

“Sorry. Do you prefer Miss Shinra?”

Charlie turns to face her bodily, staring wide-eyed at the slum girl sitting on the bench beside her. “No,” she wheezes. “Charlie. Call me Charlie.”

“Charlie,” Aerith says slowly, testing out the name. It sounds sweet enough. “Okay, Charlie. We’re staying the night at the inn, and we’ll be leaving in the morning. It doesn’t matter what Barret thinks, so long as Cloud is okay with it. I think he’s become our leader.”

“Cloud said he’ll take me?” Could the ex-SOLDIER still have a little ingrained loyalty left to him? Does he know something about Angeal, and feels obligated to help her?

“For the right price, and he doesn’t come cheap.”

“Anything,” Charlie replies. “Tell him anything he wants, and it’s his. I’ll even give him half up front.”

“You can discuss payment with him. Actually, I’m not interested in payment at all,” Aerith tells her, smoothing out the dirty skirt of her pink dress. “But we’ll need to be quiet about it. Traveling with the vice president will attract a lot of attention. You might even consider dyeing your hair.”

“No one is touching my hair,” she answers firmly, not at all interested in such a ridiculous idea. It’s not like a little color will change her face. “And I have no intention of being found, so you don’t have to worry about me relating your every move to someone back at HQ.”

“I’ll be sure to tell everyone.”

“And . . .” Charlie purses her lips, exhaling through her pointed nose. “I know I have no right to demand things of you, but if Cloud is willing to have me, then I must insist we leave in the middle of the night.”

This seems to take Aerith by surprise. “Why so soon?”

_Because if I wake up next to Reeve tomorrow morning, I’ll never find the strength to leave._ “Just promise me.”

Aerith’s eyes scan her face. They’re green, just like Mother’s had been. “Did your brother do that to you?”

Charlie feels her walls springing up around her again. She clears her throat. “It was my fault. I hit him first. Do I have your word?”

“Yes,” Aerith whispers, and Charlie is thankful she doesn’t pry. “I’ll make sure we get you to Tseng. Between you and me, Cloud’s a pretty good bodyguard.”


	31. Chapter 31

She’s left the porch light on and the front door unlocked.

Gods, he hates it when she does that, little things that make it seem like she has little to no regard for her safety. Little things that should be habit by now. How hard is it to lock the front door?

Then again, she’s used to a Turk being with her, at her side, doing everything for her, paid well to be completely devoted to her, paid to tie her shoes and zipper her dresses and brush her hair and do everything she never learned to do for herself. 

A Turk wouldn’t have forgotten to lock the door, at least. 

“Charlie?” Reeve calls out, hearing the soft hum of the television carrying from the living room, and he takes care to lock the door behind him. “You’ve _got_ to lock the door, darling, or else anyone could just come—”

He stops abruptly, listening. Besides the television, the house is still silent. Is she sleeping? He’s grown so used to her calling back at the sound of his voice, the soft pattering of her feet against the floor as she runs to greet him. 

“Charlotte!” he calls again, only for silence to answer once more. 

His heart starts to beat a little faster. The front door was unlocked. Had someone come in and taken her? Is someone else here? What could be keeping her?

Crossing to the living room, he’s able to breathe again. Charlie is watching the news, a bottle of expensive scotch on the table, half-empty. The smell hangs heavy in the air, just like the smoke of her father’s cigars, and even looking at her through the darkness, her face lit up by the bluish hue of the television, Reeve can tell that she’s drunk.

“Started without me, have you?” he asks warily, lingering in the doorway. There’s a soft sniffling, and upon realizing that she might be crying, Reeve turns on the nearest lamp to brighten the room. “What are you doing in the dark, my love? What happened?”

Charlie reaches out with the remote, only her profile visible to him, and she turns the television off. When she turns to look at him, Reeve’s breath leaves him all at once, his eyes taking in the pink bruise on her swollen cheek, the purpling fingertip-shaped marks around her throat, the dark coloring around her wrists. 

“Charlotte, what happened to you?” He takes a step closer to her, reaching out for her, but Charlie turns her face away from him, turning cold. A creeping feeling of dread takes hold of his heart. “What’s going on?”

“I spoke with Hojo today,” she says hoarsely, still not looking at him. 

“Professor Hojo? You _spoke_ with Hojo? He was here, at Costa del Sol?” 

“Yes, at the beach.” Charlotte gets slowly to her feet, swaying slightly before regaining her balance. She turns to look at him fully, and though she’s been crying, there’s something angry about her, as well. “Did you know?”

This can’t be good, whatever Hojo told her. “Did I know what?” His fuse is short tonight after the trip over here, and he’s already sounding waspish. Tonight will end in an argument and tears and Charlie will squirm when he tries to hold her, like his touch is painful. 

“Did you know about Angeal? Did you know the entire time what he was and what happened to him?”

 _Yes._ But he says nothing, running a hand through his hair and sighing. Ever since seeing the sword during the infiltration and bombing of mako reactor five, Charlie has seemed fixated on re-seeking the closure she had never gotten. Reeve half-believed she had forgotten about Angeal, truthfully, just like she had chosen to forget Veld. 

Charlie seems to (correctly) take his silence for an answer, her face hardening. When she speaks, she slurs slightly. “You watched me cry for months over him,” she cries softly, swiping at the tip of her nose. “And you said _nothing_. You pretended you knew nothing.”

“Your father and Tseng were of a mind . . .” Reeve hesitates. It’s not going to sound good coming out of his mouth. If he were in _her_ position . . . “They believed that if you knew the truth, it may have led you to develop some . . . less than kind opinions of what Shinra Inc. was doing behind the scenes . . .”

“And you just _agreed_ to that? You thought that was at all fair to _me?_ ”

“Telling you would have been a death sentence, Charlie,” he argues. “If I had told you the truth, you wouldn’t have been able to keep that to yourself.”

“If it meant your life, I would have kept it to myself,” Charlie replies, looking genuinely hurt by that comment. “Do you think your life means so little to me?”

“No, I . . .” Gods, he’s done it again, fucked it all up because he can’t seem to handle being put on the spot by her. Every little thing that comes from his mouth can be twisted in some bitter way and thrown back in his face. She has an uncanny ability to twist things around sometimes. “I thought it would upset you, to hear the truth—”

“Well, Tseng showed me the classified report, and I _am_ upset.”

Reeve exhales loudly, raising his eyebrows to further impress his point. 

“What about Lazard? Did you know Lazard was my half-brother? Is it true?”

 _Yes._ Again, he says nothing for a few moments. What is he supposed to say? “There was talk around the office that . . . there were similarities that could not be ignored . . .”

That’s true enough—it mostly was just talk, but there had been truth to some of the rumors, and Scarlet was convinced she knew who the mother was, as well, a former administrative assistant. Reeve has never put much stock in whatever Scarlet has to say, but side-by-side, the similarities had been striking. 

The “Shinra look”, indeed.

“My own bastard brother,” she spits, moving closer to him, “given the entire SOLDIER department to run, while my father’s true daughter was given a failing department, a lack of secure funding, and all the beatings I could wish for—”

“Don’t pretend you drew the short stick, Charlotte,” Reeve hears himself say. He wishes it sounded more confident. Lazard had been decent enough, and while bitterness was a feeling the former director was very familiar with, none of it was ever outwardly displayed towards Charlie. If she hadn’t been half so charming, so clever, or so funny, things could have been terribly different. “He may have been given the SOLDIER department, but you were given the last name and the money—”

“Oh, _spare_ me,” Charlie scowls. “He was educated, well-spoken and well-dressed, compensated very well . . . I’d say Lazard was lucky enough to have the money, as well.”

“The Shinra name holds more power than you know.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what kind of power the Shinra name holds? You think I don’t know what I could do right now because of it? All I’d have to do is make a single phone call, and anyone I wanted could be dead at my command.”

Reeve breathes deeply. It was all bound to happen eventually. Secrets can hardly be kept forever, bound to come out in due time, and he knows that his secrets are damning in their own right. 

So when is he supposed to confess to his own private role within Shinra? When is he supposed to bring up the fact that he had participated in covered-up assignments by spying, by lying, by doing it all from afar like a coward?

“What else do you know?” she hisses, placing her hands to his chest and shoving him hard. Reeve stumbles, but is able to find his footing after a second. “What else have you been hiding from me all these years? What else have you _lied_ about?”

He wants to say _I don’t know where to begin,_ but the words don’t come, stuck in his throat. Truthfully, he’s harboring nearly a decade’s worth of secrets. He had only been trying to preserve a shred of her innocence. He only wanted to keep her happy, to keep from breaking her heart. 

“Do you know what happened to Veld?”

 _Yes._ He looks away, ashamed. 

“Tell me,” she whispers. It is a command, and not a polite one. The cheek that’s not marred by a bruise flushes. “I am your vice president. _Tell me!_ ”

She’s desperate, and there are tears in her eyes and her hands are curled into fists. 

“That’s not how it works here, Charlotte,” he protests. It’s not the first time she’s used this tack, and it surely won’t be the last, but he refuses to give her that power over him in private. “Who did that to you? Did Rufus do that to you? Did he hit you?”

Charlie frowns, touching her cheek lightly. “It was my fault. It was all my fault. I hit him first,” she answers, her voice cracking. “He didn’t mean it, Reeve. He was only upset about Father.”

Fury burns inside of his chest. It’s only been just short of two weeks since her father died, and Rufus has already taken it upon himself to hurt her. And of course she would jump to her brother’s defense, just like she always has. 

It’s the straw that breaks his back—seeing Charlie bruised and battered by the hands of the brother who swears he loves her, trying to convince herself that Rufus hadn’t meant to hurt her. 

With everything that’s happened recently, Reeve doesn’t know if he’s able to take anymore of it. Perhaps this is the way he grieves the death of the late President Shinra, grief finally manifesting into incendiary anger. 

“How can you _say_ that?” he shouts, and Charlie’s eyes go wide, probably very surprised to hear him yelling. “Charlie, how can you continue to defend him after all he’s done to you?”

“After all he’s done to me?” Charlie snaps, looking so damned beautiful in her rage. Damn her. “My brother has only ever loved me since we were children. He’s been the only one who hasn’t made a complete fool of me by _leaving_ —”

“Your brother pays the Turks to micromanage every little thing you do,” Reeve retorts, heat rising to his cheeks and the back of his neck. “He doesn’t love you, he wants to control your entire life. You are the one thing he can’t have, the one thing he’s been denied his entire life, that’s all. He just doesn’t want anyone else to have you since he—”

“So he’s protective of me—”

“Protective isn’t _nearly_ a strong enough word to describe your brother’s feelings towards you—”

“Oh? And what would you call it, then?”

“Belittling? Abusive? Obsessive? Possessive? Would you like me to go on?”

Charlie’s jaw twitches, her teeth gritted. She keeps a cool face, even with the tears that leak down her flushed cheeks, but she’s furious with him. He hates it. He hates seeing her so angry with him. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have yelled at her. He probably shouldn’t have said those last four things, either. He knows better than to speak out against her brother. 

“Those are bold words from you, Reeve,” she tells him, almost sounding level-headed. Maybe she’s not as drunk as she seemed at first glance. “I bet you’ve been waiting a long time to say that, haven't you?”

Reeve _hates_ how he feels so small in front of her. He supposes it must run in the family, the looming and threatening presence, seemingly larger than life, and powerful, always so powerful. She’s always been a Shinra in that sense. 

“You wanted the truth, and there it is,” he says, heart beating at a frenzied pace, hammering hard against his chest. 

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’ve finally found the courage to tell the truth after all these years.”

Her words are cruel, and she means it to come across that way. 

“How long will it take you to tell me everything else? I thought you loved me.”

“I _do_ —I love you, Charlotte—”

“Then tell me what you’re hiding!”

“It’s very complicated,” he begins, standing so close to her that he could reach out and place his hands upon her shoulders. Coming here had been a terrible idea. 

“You’re just like everyone else,” she huffs, pouting with her bottom lip. “Keeping secrets for the _greater good,_ to keep me happy, to keep me from knowing the horrible truths about my father’s legacy. I’m almost thirty now, okay? I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I can assure you, Rufus is no better when it comes to—”

“I’m not engaged to Rufus,” Charlie hisses, crossing her arms. 

“He wishes you were, I’m sure.” It spills out of his mouth before he can stop himself. 

Something happens—something so quick that he thinks it may have been just a trick of the light. It looks like panic flashing across her face, just like it had when Reeve had questioned her about her first kiss. 

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” she counters coldly, “but I would be very careful about what I said next, if I were you.”

It almost sounds like a threat, but the defensive way she suddenly acts is telling. It makes Reeve only feel more nervous, and a little ill. “Can’t you see what he’s doing to you?” he pleads, lifting a hand to reach for her own, but Charlie slaps it away. 

She’s quiet for a moment, looking away from him. “Do you know what they call me in the slums?”

“I’m sure we all go by many names in the slums,” Reeve answers. “None of them mean anything. They aren’t important.”

“‘Brotherfucker’, they call me,” Charlie continues carelessly, not amused in the slightest. “And I don’t even consider that the worst one.”

“It’s only talk.” _Is it?_

“Is it so difficult for everyone to believe that my brother could actually, genuinely love me?” she asks, and Reeve shifts awkwardly beneath her hard stare. “He just doesn’t know how to show it, that’s all.”

“Your brother is old enough to know that _this_ —” He gestures wildly at her cheek and throat—“isn’t how you show someone you love them.”

“That’s what he knows. You can thank my father for that.”

“He saw what your father did to you, and to your mother, and he’s doing it all over again to _you_ , Charlie,” he protests. He’s never hated Rufus more in his life. The shred of respect he had for the president is now gone, upon seeing the evidence of his “love” for Charlotte. “He tracks your purchases, has access to your phone and travel records, has Turks watching your every move, bugs your phone and our apartment . . . look at what he did to you!”

“He was right, wasn’t he?” Charlie scoffs, wiping angrily at her tears. “You’re turning me against him.”

Reeve can’t believe he’s hearing this from Charlie’s mouth. Then again, she’s drunk, probably traumatized after watching her father’s murder, and likely brainwashed by her sociopath brother. 

“You don’t believe that,” he whispers, not wanting to seem cold, but wanting to shake sense into her. 

“How can I believe _you_ when all you’ve done is lie to me?”

“ _Me?_ ” He wants to turn around and leave now, before they say things they don’t mean, before they say things they _do_ mean. “You were sneaking around for years with Avalanche behind my back—”

“That’s different—”

“How is that different? Look at what _your_ secrets caused! Look at what you did—”

Charlie sobs suddenly, cutting him off. Her hands jump to cover her face, and she hunches over, shoulders tensing. She’s stopped listening to him, crying hoarsely into her hands. His eyes are drawn to her wrists again, and the light bruising around them. It makes him sick to think of what Rufus might have done to her. 

Reeve sighs, combing his fingers quickly through his beard. There’s no reason for him to be so harsh on her after everything that’s happened. And if Rufus had done something horrible . . . “Come here,” he rasps, and to his surprise, she does.

She cries against his chest for a minute, pressing herself against him, receptive to soft kisses placed at her hairline. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she confesses, wrapping her arms around his middle. “But I don’t want to fight with you tonight.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to fight with you, either.”

He knows it will not be the last time she brings up Angeal, Rufus, or Lazard—he knows that it will likely continue in the morning, and will not end until Charlie squeezes all the information she can from him. 

But at least for tonight, he’s spared that burden. 

* * *

Charlie doesn’t sleep that night. She pretends to sleep, so as not to throw Reeve off, but once she hears his heavy breathing, she doesn’t have to pretend anymore.

He’s a heavy enough sleeper that he won’t even notice she’s gone until he wakes. 

She’s frightened, of course. If she wasn’t at least a little bit frightened, she might think something is horribly wrong with her. But she has to remind herself that it’s all for Reeve, it’s all for him and to keep him safe, all to keep the both of them alive and well enough to have a future together. 

How can she be the vice president of a company that has done such horrible things? A company that has gone to such horrible lengths to cover up information, to feed the people lies, to display propaganda from one side of the world to the other in the hopes of drawing in new victims?

How can she call herself “vice president”? Doesn’t that make her complicit in these horrible and unethical practices? She doesn’t condone those things, and whatever else Rufus is hiding from her, and she can’t, in good conscience, stand up before the people of the world and tell them that Shinra is good, that Shinra cares, that Shinra will bring joy and happiness to the people that naively rely on them. 

But if she refuses to go along with it . . . if she refuses to play along with Rufus’s grand scheme . . . what will happen then? Will he use Reeve just as her father did? Will he have someone eliminate her so as to eradicate all competition? Will he have a Turk do it? Will he have a Turk turn on her after all these years?

Her trust in them is shaky. Charlie knows they are loyal, not to the company exactly, but to Rufus. But there’s a _chance_ , there’s a small chance that she could appeal to them, and if there’s even the slightest chance of them being able to help her, then she has to take it. She can’t let that opportunity pass by.

But she still isn’t certain what they might be able to do. She doesn’t think there’s a chance they’ll turn on Rufus, and if they find out that she’s been traveling with Avalanche, she’ll be a traitor. She doesn’t want anyone to die—she doesn’t want revenge on Rufus, doesn’t want her own brother to die, and she doesn’t want Reeve to die.

 _She’s_ not ready to die, but it means an end to the burden that she’s placed on Reeve’s shoulders, then so be it. 

Charlie inches closer to him, splaying a hand over his heart. Her engagement ring sparkles on her finger, never having been taken off. She always takes it off when she sleeps. How could she have forgotten tonight? Maybe she just wants to wear it for as long as she can. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, kissing his jawline lightly before brushing her lips against his own, so soft that he doesn’t even stir. “I never should have dragged you into this.” She kisses him again, for her sake. “I love you.”

She almost shakes him awake just to hear him say it back, but then she might never leave. 

She’s able to slip off the bed, and after looking down at his sleeping figure for what feels like hours, Charlie slips the engagement ring off her finger and places it on the nightstand, right on top of his wallet. Her phone sits there, as well, but she’s leaving it behind, knowing that it will only make her easier to track. 

Her things, that she had packed earlier in the day, have been stored in Rufus’s room. Reeve wouldn’t dare go in there, so she had felt it was safe enough. She’s able to change out of her pajamas and into something a little more practical for travel, listening all the while for the sound of the bed creaking, or some sign that Reeve is awake. 

There’s a canvas backpack that’s stuffed with three outfits (all she could carry and all of them outfits she hasn’t worn since the rocket launch), a map and a compass, a few photographs, a water canteen that certainly won’t keep full for very long, and she takes the handgun from Rufus’s nightstand drawer, along with the extra clip and ammo, loading it and tucking it into the back of her pants. 

Lastly, she grabs the bag of gil she had withdrawn earlier. A small withdrawal in Costa del Sol won’t alert Rufus to anything out of the ordinary, and the agreed upon amount hadn’t been anything extravagant—just enough to keep Cloud and his friends well-stocked with medicine and weapons strong enough to fight any monsters that may find them. 

She has to leave the villa knowing that Rufus would never hurt Reeve to try and get her back. If Rufus loves her, and she knows that he does, he would never do anything that would keep Charlie from forgiving him.

Part of her fears that they’ve already left without her. 

The resort town is so quiet this time of night. The only lights come from the flickering street lamps or the neon signs of bars and gift shops that never turn off, and some light spills from the windows of the first floor of the inn. The gentle push and pull of the waves keeps her calm, and the sound of her boots against the cobblestone road seem to echo in her head. 

She sweats a little underneath the jacket she’s worn. There had been no room for it in her bag, but she thought it might be smart to bring a jacket along. 

Just outside of the town, Charlie finds them, just like Aerith had promised.

“As promised,” Charlie mutters, dropping the heavy bag of gil into Cloud’s open hand. “You’ll get the rest after I’m with the Turks.”

“Got any weapons on you?” Barret asks roughly, looking her up and down in the moonlight. 

“A gun,” she admits. 

“Search her before she shoots us all!” comes a childish voice from the shadows. 

“Put your hands on me and I’ll have you all killed.” 

“What about recording devices? Bugs? Trackers? Whatever Shinra uses to keep track of you?”

“No, none of those,” Charlie answers again. “I don’t even have my phone.”

“Do you realize what you’re getting yourself into?” Cloud asks, passing the money off to Barret, who tucks it into a pocket of his vest, patting it gently as if it’s very precious to him. He looks like he’s never seen twenty-thousand gil in his life. 

“Yes,” Charlie answers, looking around at them all. She knows all of their names now, and knows that most of them resent her in some way, faulting her for the actions of her father. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.”

“You ain’t gettin’ your deposit back if you chicken out now, Shinra,” Barret growls, gesturing with his head towards the open road. 

Tifa is the first to follow, and then Yuffie and Red. Cloud adjusts the Buster Sword at his back before going after them, leaving only Aerith behind to stand with Charlie. 

It had only been Cloud and Aerith to meet with her, to give her the opportunity to explain her side of the events that had preceded the plate dropping, telling them about Pia and Jessie and the bombs, telling them about how her own father had ordered a gun held to Reeve’s head, how she had planned to help Aerith the night Sephiroth came. 

And Charlie had told them what Rufus had done to her, showed off the bruises that she had tried so hard to hide earlier in the day, warning them that it would only escalate from there.

She doesn’t know if Cloud has communicated that to anyone else, however.

“You okay?” Aerith asks gently.

Charlie nods. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just . . . need a second, that’s all.”

Aerith takes the hint, trailing after Cloud as they grow further and further away from Charlie and Costa del Sol, making their journey down the wide country road that will lead them, hopefully, to the Turks and to Sephiroth. 

She turns back towards the town one last time. If she walks away now, Reeve might never want her again, but at least Rufus would be content with that knowledge. She never should have involved Reeve in any of this, never should have encouraged it, never should have willingly dragged him in the middle of her dysfunctional family and all of their problems. 

Leaving now is leaving behind all the memories she has of this place, of the time spent in the villa, of the time spent at the beach. It’s walking away from the memories of people who loved her, who cared for her, who comforted her. 

If she leaves now, she might _never_ be able to come back.

Charlie blinks up at the stars, trying to hold back the tears that are brimming. They’re out in full force tonight, a beautiful and sparkling sky compared to the one above Midgar. 

Today had been too much at once. The past few days, the past few weeks . . . it’s all been too much, too much happening too fast, and Charlie finds herself wondering if Angeal is up there, watching her from the stars, from the heavens. 

The closure had been nice, if not unexpected and heartbreaking. And to learn of a half-brother that had never once treated her unkindly had been something difficult to digest. Could they have been family if she knew?

Family. A funny word. A word that doesn’t really mean what she thought it used to mean. 

Maybe, on her journey to the last of her family, she might find something along the way to point her in the direction of her mother. It’s something she hadn’t considered until now, looking up at the stars. 

Maybe she’s somewhere on the western continent, looking up at the same sky, wondering what her children are doing. Charlie can’t believe that she’s dead. She refuses to believe it. There might still be hope. 

Yes, she thinks, it would be nice to have some closure there, too.

* * *

He’s cold when he wakes, and slightly confused. 

He’s so used to waking to Charlie’s exploratory and teasing touches, to her lips pressing soft kisses to his face and neck, that it feels disorienting to wake without it. 

“Charlie?” he moans, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn. She doesn’t answer, and Reeve opens his eyes to look at her, only to find that her side of the bed is empty. He sits up quickly, looking around the bedroom. “Charlotte!” 

He reaches for his watch on the nightstand, his entire body freezing just before he picks it up, the breath all leaving him at once, his stomach feeling like he’s just been sucker punched.

Her engagement ring rests upon his wallet.

* * *

“What is it? I’m on my way to you right now.”

“ _My apologies for the interruption, but I thought you might be interested in a rather desperate phone call I just received from Director Tuesti._ ”

Rufus frowns, jostled around in the backseat of a truck driven by two masked guards. Reeve certainly hadn’t called _him_. “What do you mean?”

“ _It seems he woke this morning to find your sister missing._ ”

“Missing?” Rufus repeats, hardly able to believe it. He’s not so surprised that Charlie had called Reeve to come to Costa del Sol. He had expected it. “Has he checked the town? Has he made sure she’s not in Midgar? I told her to return there this morning. I’m certain she’s still on her way.”

“ _I’ve already made the appropriate calls, sir,_ ” Tseng replies, and there’s a note of panic in his voice that throws Rufus off guard. “ _No one has seen her in Costa del Sol, and there are no incoming flights to Midgar this morning, especially not a flight with the vice president on it._ ”

Tseng’s panic makes _him_ panic. Had something happened to Charlie? Had Avalanche gotten hold of her? Wouldn’t he have received some kind of ransom note by now if that were the case?

“ _If it means anything to you, sir, the director had mentioned she left behind both her engagement ring and her phone._ ”

Rufus thinks hard, stroking his pointed chin. Charlie loves that damned engagement ring, and would never leave it behind for anything, but why would she leave her phone behind? Is it possible that her disappearance had been planned? If she knew her phone was bugged, of course she would leave it behind if she had every intention of not being found. 

But to leave her ring behind, to break off the engagement that Rufus has resented for months now . . . while the thought is elating, he can’t help but worry. What reasons would Charlie have to call off her engagement? Only last night she had begged for his life, begged for his safety. 

He still feels a little bad about the beating he’d given her, but Charlie deserved it. She was out of line, and she needed to be punished. She knows he still loves her—she had still kissed him before he left, chaste and quick on his mouth, something she doesn’t like to do anymore. 

“ _Sir?_ ” comes Tseng’s voice again. Rufus doesn’t know how long he’s been quiet. “ _I could always send Reno and Rude to find her._ ”

“Not yourself?” Rufus hisses, surprised that Tseng hadn’t volunteered himself outright for the job. “Why wouldn’t Reeve have called to tell me himself? Why wouldn’t he tell _me_ that _my own sister_ was missing? No, never mind, don’t answer that. I know why he wouldn’t call me.”

“ _I have a few SOLDIERs on standby that I intended to send to Rocket Town, with your permission,_ ” Tseng continues, and Rufus has to admit that he’s impressed that Rocket Town would be one of the first places he would check for her. It’s a stretch, but very plausible that Charlie had been in contact with Cid. “ _But the news of her disappearance has not been made public._ ”

“She’ll be found quicker if we have the entire world looking for her,” Rufus says, looking out the tinted window of the truck. He’s not quite sure how far he is from Corel, but the land is becoming far less green the more they drive. “And she’ll come back even faster if she knows Reeve’s life is on the line.”

“ _She will never forgive you if you do that._ ”

“Don’t I know it,” he mumbles to himself. “I know where she is. Avalanche was on the ship to Costa del Sol. I know that she had something to do with it, and I’m certain they have something to do with her disappearance.”

Tseng is quiet for a moment. “ _Have our orders changed, sir?_ ”

Rufus chews on his lower lip. Tseng’s anxious to know if he has permission to follow Charlie, he’s sure, but Rufus can’t figure it out. Why would Charlie up and leave everything behind for a chance to gallivant around the world with Avalanche? Why would she leave Reeve behind? Surely not for revenge? Not for a chance to get even with Sephiroth?

There’s no denying that Rufus is curious as to how this all might play out. “No,” he says, wondering how Charlie might have convinced Avalanche to bring her along. What lies has she been spreading? What information did she give them? “I have a better idea.”

“ _Sir?_ ”

“I think I need to return to Midgar, immediately,” he tells Tseng suddenly, unable to keep a smile from creeping onto his face. “Continue after Sephiroth for now. I’ll take care of Charlie.” Rufus hangs up the call, tapping the side of the chair to alert the driver. “Turn us around and pick up the pace. I’m needed in Midgar.”

“Yes, sir, right away, Mr. President.”

Rufus smiles again at the sound of it. _Mr. President._ He quickly dials another number, holding the phone up to his ear. 

“ _Mr. President._ ”

“Reeve,” he sighs happily, glad to hear the stiffness in Reeve’s voice. He’s afraid of punishment or consequences. Or perhaps he’s afraid for Charlie. “Tseng just told me the news. Slipped right out from under your nose, didn’t she?”

Reeve doesn’t have an answer for him. 

“Listen, I’m on my way back to Midgar now. I should only be a few hours,” he presses on, shaking his sleeve back to glance down at his watch. It’s still early. “Why don’t you and I meet for a late lunch? I have a new job I want to discuss with you.”

“ _A new job?_ ”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Rufus snaps, already irritated with him. “Meet me in my office at two o’clock this afternoon. I don’t care how many meetings you need to reschedule. This takes priority.”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

“And don’t worry.” Rufus tries his best to be charming, but he’s sure it only comes across as sarcastic and cruel. He knows that Reeve doesn’t trust him, especially if Charlie had confided in him what happened last night. “I’m not going to have you killed today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dumb-apple.tumblr.com. y’all can talk to me. i’ll talk anyone’s ear off.


	32. Chapter 32

Gods, they look so much alike. They could be twins, and it’s completely unfair that he’s being forced to stare into a face so like Charlotte’s right now.

Reeve hasn’t even touched his lunch. His stomach is churning violently, afraid of so many things in the moment. He had fully anticipated being executed the moment he set foot in the president’s office, anticipated fury and rage and an explanation for Charlie’s behavior. 

Instead of an execution (or the explicit promise of one), Rufus has shown him nothing but chilly courtesy, offering small smiles when he notices Reeve’s apprehension, which must be very obvious. For all of his unchecked aggression and anger, Rufus can certainly be charming when he so chooses to be, the handsome and charismatic boy who had only just given such a rousing inauguration speech in Junon.

“Avalanche is heading west, towards Corel and the Gold Saucer, or so the Turks have told me,” Rufus tells him suddenly. His voice is light, as if they’re simply discussing the weather, as if Charlie isn’t traveling the globe with a band of fully-armed and dangerous terrorists. “Or, I should say what’s _left_ of Corel, after that nightmare. If I know Charlie, she’ll lead them to the Gold Saucer willingly. It’s a long trek through Mount Corel without any transportation and limited resources, and they’ll all be exhausted.”

“You think she would lead Avalanche to a Shinra-owned amusement park?” Reeve asks, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. Charlie may not have much common sense sometimes, often ignoring consequences to take advantage of a singular moment, but she’s smarter than _that._ “Are you even certain that she’s traveling with them?”

“Nearly positive. Who else would she be traveling with? She wouldn’t last a minute on her own in the wilderness, and we know now that she isn’t above conspiring with terrorists. Besides, it all seems a little too coincidental for my taste.”

Closing the lid of his take-out box (his food still untouched), Reeve pushes it slightly to the side and sits up straighter in his chair. It’s slightly intimidating, having lunch so close with the president (the president being the borderline sociopath brother of the woman who had left him mere hours ago), his chair pulled up to the beautiful mahogany desk. 

His knee bounces rapidly, but he can’t stop it. Thankfully, Rufus has the grace to ignore it. 

“Now, Tseng has had the foresight to rightfully dispatch men to Rocket Town, just to confirm that Charlie hasn’t plotted an escape of some kind with that pilot of hers, but it may be days until we have news on that end. I trust Tseng’s judgement, but I find it hard to believe that Charlie would go to the one place we would all think to look first.” He laughs warmly. “Well, we have to be thorough, of course.”

“Forgive me, sir,” Reeve begins stiffly, wanting to go home and lie down and try to think about where it all went wrong. Everything had been fine when they went to bed; Charlie had touched him drunkenly until he couldn’t resist, and he had fallen asleep with her back pressed to his chest, just like usual. “You mentioned there was a new job? Is it in regards to the city? Perhaps I should get started.”

“Charlie has scolded me several times for working you too hard, Director,” Rufus sighs, leaning back in his chair in contrast. How is it possible for Rufus to look so much like his father, while looking so little like his father at the same time? “But this is different. I can think of no one better suited for the task at hand. Of course, my first choice would be a Turk, but they’re currently indisposed, and their numbers aren’t what they once were.”

Reeve scoffs nervously. “I’m no Turk,” he reminds the president. “I would hate for you to overestimate my abilities. I would only disappoint you, sir.”

“Frankly, you’ve already disappointed me enough,” the president remarks casually, just like his father would have. “Tell me, Reeve, you were engaged to my sister. Why do _you_ think my sister would have left you to join some incapable band of vigilantes?” 

He clears his throat, trying to think of what kind of answer Rufus might be looking for. He has an idea, at least. She would never have dared defy her own father so boldly and outwardly, but her brother is a different story, and if she didn’t want to be associated with the things going on at the company, seeking the acquaintanceship of Shinra’s sworn enemies would certainly be appealing to her. 

Though Tseng seemed to think something different. When Reeve had decided to call him first (out of fear, he admits to himself, fear of how Rufus might react to the knowledge that Charlie was missing), he had been desperate, hopeless, and more than a little embarrassed when he had to confess to the circumstances he woke up to this morning. 

Reeve had been left with no choice at the end, having to relay to Tseng the damage that Rufus had done to her. 

“You made a promise to Veld, Tseng.”

The Turk had been quiet for a long time after that, almost purposefully drawing out the silence as if to keep Reeve on his toes, heart beating painfully fast. It was an irritated silence. He shouldn’t have brought up Veld. 

And then, Tseng had said, “I know where she’s going,” without even offering an explanation. 

If only Tseng had told him _where_. And why hadn’t he told Rufus about his suspicions?

“She had mentioned seeing Professor Hojo at the beach,” Reeve says quickly, under critical inspection from Rufus. “I think he may have given her a hard time.”

“Hojo was at the beach?”

“I didn’t understand it, either. She was very drunk when I arrived last night, and my search of the town this morning did not yield Hojo’s whereabouts, either.”

“She was drunk last night?”

He nods. “She was upset about Angeal,” Reeve continues, his throat very constricted. “She knows the truth of what happened to him, about what he was, and she knows about Lazard.”

“Knows _what_ about Lazard?” Rufus snaps. He’s taken the liberty of eating most of his lunch, the same meal his sister orders at the restaurant that provided their food. “Say what you mean, Director, or must I be forced to coerce it from you in some other way?”

“I only meant . . .” He shouldn’t have brought Lazard up. “I was under the assumption that Lazard was your half-brother. If I’ve gotten it wrong—”

“No, it’s true. I always thought he and Charlie were very similar, and not just in looks,” Rufus says, waving a flippant hand in Reeve’s direction. “I don’t know why Father never told her. They probably would have gotten along very well. But a half-brother is no reason to run away, and Lazard is probably far from the only one. That’s just being a brat.”

“She’s taking your father’s death very hard, I think. She hasn’t been herself these past few weeks, even before your father passed.”

Rufus laughs mockingly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Even after she left you in the middle of the night without an explanation, you’re still going to defend her? She would be thrilled to know how tightly you’re wound around her finger, Director.”

_Why shouldn’t I defend her?_ It’s not like Charlie’s leaving him means she doesn’t love him. It’s not like Charlie’s leaving means he hates her. Besides, he _has_ to defend Charlie in front of Rufus, especially after what her brother had done to her. Remaining silent would only make him look bad _and_ guilty.

“All right, Director, about this job I have for you. It’s simple, really, so you can stop looking so nervous.” Rufus continues to smile at him, looking carefree. “Remind me what that _thing’s_ name was again? Tseng said it was something ridiculous, I think. Cait Sith, was it?”

Reeve nods. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse. 

“You’re—or should I say, _Cait Sith_ is—going to meet Charlie and her new friends at the Gold Saucer. You’re going to go with them to find out what they and Charlie are up to, and when the time is right, we’ll have a Turk or two extract her from wherever she is and bring her home again. That’s all I ask. Isn’t that easy?” Rufus speaks to him like he would speak to a child.

It _does_ sound easy enough, but he isn’t sure any of Charlie’s “new friends” would be eager to have him aboard. How is he supposed to assert himself into a group of people that are likely still bitter about escorting the vice president of Shinra across the continent? 

“What happens when Charlie comes back?” he asks warily. 

“Then we’ll all move on, our happy family will be back together, and we can pretend this never happened.”

He doesn’t believe it. He wants to, but he can’t. It’s far more complicated than that. “And if I refuse?”

Rufus’s eyes flash with suppressed anger. His smile turns into a grimace. “Don’t you want to see what Charlie’s up to?”

“I—I do, but . . . I don’t know that I’m comfortable with—”

“—spying on her?” The president leans forward in his chair, elbows upon his desk. “Aren’t you the _least_ bit curious, Reeve? Aren’t you wondering what she’s up to? What is she doing that she didn’t think _you_ could know about?”

He can’t say he isn’t curious. He can’t say the idea is equal parts appealing and unsettling. Spying on Charlie seems wrong, a breach of her trust, and if he really loved her, he wouldn’t do it . . .

And yet Rufus does it, and Charlie still loves him. The Turks have done it for years, and she doesn’t seem to hold it against them.

Not that _that_ makes it okay. It doesn’t, at all, but playing by the rules hasn’t gotten him anywhere, not with Rufus, nor with Charlie or any of her Turks. Playing by the rules has only made him look weak and spineless, has only lost him the respect of his coworkers and his fiancée. 

His ex-fiancée. No, that doesn’t sound right. But just because it doesn’t sound right doesn’t mean it’s not true. She had left her ring behind, without so much as a good-bye note. At least if she had brought her ring along, Reeve would know that maybe she’s thinking of him.

“Don’t you want to know if Charlie _is_ going to Rocket Town?” Rufus says again, his voice a little higher than it was before, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t you want to know what she left you for? She’s keeping secrets from you. Aren’t you just _dying_ to know?”

“How long are you going to let this go on?” Reeve hears himself ask, ignoring Rufus’s taunts. Maybe if Rufus only needs him to do this for a few days, a week at the most, it won’t make him feel so guilty. “Someone will bring her home soon?”

“As soon as we get the information we need. So long as you’re quick about it, then she’ll be home that much sooner.”

“And she’ll be . . .”

“Safe?” Rufus supplies. “What kind of monster do you think I am, Reeve, that I would kill my own sister? That _is_ what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” He laughs jovially, standing up and brushing off the front of his white suit. “It would be what she deserves, to tell the truth. She knows the punishment that awaits those eco-terrorists. She promised it herself, on live television: an execution.”

Reeve knows there’s no way to refuse. It doesn’t seem so horrible when he thinks about it. Charlie’s clearly up to something, and he’s very desperate to find out what. And he trusts the Turks _enough_ , enough to know that they wouldn’t harm Charlie. 

If Rufus truly only wants to see her back in Midgar, safe again . . . 

It almost sounds too good to be true. He can only hope he won’t be leading Charlie right into a trap. 

“Okay,” he finally says, and Rufus’s smile widens. 

“I’ll arrange transport for our little friend to take to the Gold Saucer immediately. Your cooperation is very much appreciated and _noted_ , Director.” Rufus picks up the phone and holds it between his shoulder and ear, dismissing Reeve with a wave of his hand and a curt nod. 

As Reeve is halfway out of the office, Rufus suddenly calls him back. 

“By the way,” the president says, holding a hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone, “I hope I can trust you to keep your identity concealed for the time being? Charlie _is_ unaware of your little hobby, is that correct?”

“I—” Reeve clears his throat, feeling warm around the collar. The hair at the nape of his neck sticks to his skin, cold sweat forming at his hairline. “She is unaware, sir, yes.”

“That makes this much easier for all of us, I think.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just that . . . if Charlie knows that _you’re_ involved, she might be slightly more . . . _hesitant_ to confide private information. And if the rest of Avalanche were to find out that you were a Shinra executive . . . well, you understand, don’t you?”

Reeve can’t say he’s surprised. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to walk right up to Charlie and tell her who he is. But perhaps Rufus has a point . . . what could he get out of Charlie as Cait Sith that he wouldn’t be able to as Reeve Tuesti?

“Yes, sir,” he answers, nodding. “I understand.”

* * *

The first few days are the hardest.

Running on hardly any sleep, Charlie does her best to keep up with her other temporary bodyguards. She sweats through her clothes, all of the alcohol leaving her body and still smelling of scotch. She has to strip down to almost nothing, her white tank top clinging to her sticky flesh, her hair wet and stringy.

Charlie is able to keep that up until late afternoon. It’s only when Tifa comments something about Charlie appearing “dead on her feet” does the party stop to rest their feet, refill their water supply, and eat something. Charlie spends fifteen minutes throwing up a few yards away from camp, dry-heaving until she’s sure that she’s going to die, but she doesn’t. 

At least she knows all of their names now. 

Barret and Yuffie want nothing to do with her, and seem to find common ground in the joy of loudly talking about Shinra’s heinous crimes against humanity. Yuffie talks a lot about the Wutai war, her stories sometimes outlandish and unbelievable and exaggerated. 

Barret doesn’t talk much about his own private life, but likes to talk about Seventh Heaven, old Avalanche buddies, and how Shinra had dropped the plate on it all and now his friends are dead and now his home is gone and he isn’t sure when he’s going to see his daughter again. 

Charlie tries once to ask about his daughter, trying to be kind, but Barret seems to think it’s a threat and turns his gun arm on her, only running off to scout ahead after Cloud talks him down. 

She learns that Red XIII is the name Professor Hojo designated to the creature that had been kept in his lab. Charlie confesses she had never known such a creature lived in Headquarters, and Red XIII seems to take mild offense at her use of the word “creature” and starts scouting ahead with Barret and Yuffie more often than not. 

While Cloud is fair with her and delivers as best he can as Charlie’s “bodyguard”, he’s reserved and private, and when Charlie tries to ask about any of his old friends that they might be able to talk about, Cloud refuses to give her any names. She’s too afraid to ask about the Buster Sword, thinking it’s probably best to ask after they’ve established some sort of trust between them. She wants the truth when she asks.

Tifa, the bartender, is kind, but clearly wary of Charlie’s company. She asks about the rebuilding of the plate, of the rebuilding of the mako reactors, asks how many survivors were found, what the status of Midgar is. Charlie isn’t able to give many answers, as the rebuilding is still going on and likely will continue to go on for years. Midgar is never _not_ under construction at some point. 

Of all of them, Charlie finds herself gravitating towards Aerith, the Ancient slum-girl. She’s the only one who will fall back to talk quietly with Charlie, as if they’re friends. 

The third day of travel, Aerith asks Charlie about Tseng, and Charlie finds herself talking for two-and-a-half hours about him, about how they met, about how they became close, about how she feels and what she thinks, little stories that are known to no one except them, and it’s only after _two-and-a-half_ hours of talking that she realizes she’s been rambling (in a very positive manner) about the man who had kidnapped Aerith. 

Blushing furiously, Charlie looks away. “I’m sorry,” she says, horribly embarrassed about her sudden vulnerability. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just that, I’ve never really been given a chance to talk about everything.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Aerith smiles. “To talk about it?”

Charlie smiles weakly back, but isn’t all that encouraged to continue. “Maybe we could just talk about something else now.”

She has to admit that it’s a horrible journey. Most of it is spent on the road, in between towns, and Charlie hates having to relieve herself in the woods, hates walking for miles and miles and miles, hates being so dirty and bathing in brown creeks that are so cold that she can’t spend more than five or ten minutes in the water.

She’s so reliant on Aerith for everything, as well, which only embarrasses her further. She needs help washing her clothes, needs help finding edible berries and roots in the woods, needs help finding sticks for a fire, needs help _lighting_ a fire, needs help catching fish. 

Charlie can’t believe how _useless_ she is. She can’t do anything; she can’t kill monsters, she can’t cook dinner for her “friends”. The only thing she can do is determine their position by reading the stars (something that earns her praise from Tifa and Aerith, even if it doesn’t help much) and read a map better than nearly anyone. 

Those feats aren’t as impressive as taking down a monster, though.

And they only have _one_ tent. It’s big enough for all of them, but has clearly seen better days, having been bought in a small village a few miles outside Costa del Sol. They all sleep inside of it, huddled together for warmth like some big family, but Charlie hates going inside that tent. She hates feeling like an outsider.

She shivers beneath her jacket and a scratchy blanket at night, lying just outside the tent and underneath the stars. It’s cold at night now, the further away from the coast they get, nearing the mountains that Charlie thinks protect the Gold Saucer from view. 

It would be nice to sleep in a real bed again . . . 

_Look what I’m doing,_ she tells the sky, _look what I’m doing to get to you, Tseng. Don’t you forget it._

She cries herself to sleep every night, trying very hard to keep quiet. She misses Midgar, she misses Reeve, she misses her brother. She misses the quiet of the Shinra Building after most of the staff has gone home for the day. She misses the sound of the waves floating in through her bedroom’s open window at the villa. She misses her cat, and she misses hearing Reeve come home from work and allowing her to sweep him into her arms. 

She always fears that she’s going to wake with a spotlight shining down upon her face, a helicopter hovering above her. Sometimes she fears that a monster will tear her apart while she’s sleeping. Other times, she fears she’ll freeze to death and no one will even notice until morning, and when they notice, they won’t care and they’ll move on without her, lamenting the money they’ll never see now. 

_You better keep me safe, Tseng, just like you promised Veld,_ she thinks, crying into her hands as she settles against the mountain floor again, dirt covering her skin, _or Rufus will kill us both._

* * *

He wasn’t going to look through her phone. 

Looking through her things has only ever burned him.

But if there’s something in her phone that could lead him in the right direction, then it will be worth it. 

Pictures won’t help, but Reeve finds himself going through her pictures first, all of them recovered after her original phone had been crushed beneath the plate. Most of them are pictures of Cat, or of himself and Charlie, or pictures of Charlie and Rufus (he’s smiling in those pictures, and he _never_ smiles in pictures that aren’t for newspapers or TV), or racy pictures she had taken of herself that had been sent to him to begin with. 

Reeve deletes all the racy pictures. He doesn’t want anyone looking at her phone and finding those, just like he did. Is it still appropriate for him to have those photos? How long is he supposed to wait for her? Is he supposed to wait at all? Why hadn’t anyone prepared him for this? 

How many of those pictures had the Turks seen, anyway? Were they able to see every text they sent each other? Has Rufus seen these pictures? Gods, he hopes not.

He’s never dated a girl as indecisive and reckless and impulsive as Charlie. Then again, he’s never dated any girl whose home life had caused them such strife. 

He should have known that being with the president’s daughter ( _the president’s sister,_ he reminds himself) would not be easy, and a few months ago, when he had made the bold decision to marry her, he had been willing to fight those battles when they came, willing to push through when things got difficult.

Did he think she would just up and leave one day? Yes. In fact, Reeve is surprised that this day hadn’t come sooner. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, and he thought, with their wedding coming up, the chances of her backing out were close to zero.

She had been excited to marry him. She had loved talking about their wedding, about not being a Shinra anymore, about seeing a golden band around his own finger.

He always imagined, if she left, she would be back within a few hours, too, falling into his arms and crying when she returned, begging his forgiveness. But that’s just wishful thinking. If she intended to return, she wouldn’t have left her ring. 

Reeve goes through her voicemails next, toying with Charlie’s engagement ring in his left hand. Most of them are from himself and Rufus, and a few are from the Turks and _Cid_. He clicks on a six-week-old voicemail from Tseng, letting his voice filter through the empty bedroom through the speaker on her phone. 

“ _I thought I might catch you before you left Headquarters, but you must already be on your way home. I know our reservation is for seven tonight, but I’m running late and will meet you there closer to seven-thirty. Wait for me by the bar. I’ll buy dinner tonight for the inconvenience._ ”

Tseng’s smug face looks up at him from Charlie’s phone. It’s not a horrible picture, in truth, and he looks a few years younger, but the fact that he’s smiling right at the camera makes Reeve feel sick. Tseng doesn’t smile for pictures, less so than Rufus, but apparently he smiles for Charlotte. 

Charlie says they hardly speak, but the voicemail certainly makes it sound like the two of them speak more than she cares to admit. She’s never confessed to having dinner with Tseng, but Reeve’s been spending a lot of late nights at the office in the past few months, and it’s not like he’s ever home to take her out himself.

He clicks on another voicemail, this one from the morning after her father had died. 

“ _I just wanted to call and make sure you’re all right. When I have a free moment, I’ll stop by the apartment. Call me if you need anything, otherwise, I’ll see you in a little while. I’m sending Rude over to keep an eye on the apartment, but he’s under strict orders to not enter unless given explicit instruction from you. Take care._ ”

Reeve sighs, his thumb hovering over _Cid_ , a call from the same morning of the last voicemail. He shouldn’t be doing this, but there are clearly so many things she’s hiding from him that it seems counterintuitive _not_ to go through her things now.

Unfortunately for him, Charlie has a picture of Cid, as well. His smile is a little more forced, teeth bared and his cheeks sunburnt and the looming shadow of the half-built Shinra No. 26 in the background behind him. 

“ _Hey, kiddo, I just heard the news ‘bout your old man. I hope you’re doin’ okay. You must still be sleepin’, so I’ll call back again in a few hours. I’m worried ‘bout you, but I know I shouldn’t be. You’re a lot tougher than you look._ _Talk to you later, Lottie._ ”

Reeve scrunches his nose at the sound of that childish nickname. _Lottie._

He’s never known anyone else in Charlie’s life to call her that name. She’s always preferred to be called ‘Charlie’, though he isn’t quite sure how that nickname had gained traction either. Something else he needs to ask her about, if she’s even willing to tell him the truth of it.

Lastly, curling his fingers around the ring pressed against the creases of his palm, Reeve opens her messages, going through the texts she and Rufus have exchanged (it’s a far higher volume of messages than he originally thought, amazed that the two of them can text back and forth for nearly every hour of every day), and texts that she and Reno have exchanged (these are mostly business related and _where are you?_ and _what are you doing?_ texts, but Reeve doesn’t like the way the Turk casually calls her _babe_ and _princess_ every five messages).

The texts exchanged between her and Tseng irk him in more than one way. While no pet names are exchanged between them (thankfully), the texts reveal a relationship that is deeper than Reeve ever thought. Charlie clearly has no qualms sending him things like _I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore_ and _I feel so lonely._

All things that Charlie’s never come to Reeve about, and these messages have been going on for _months_.

And every answer from Tseng seems exactly the same.

_I’ll be there as soon as I can._

_Give me an hour and I’ll be on my way._

Is that what Reeve should have done? Should he have dropped everything to be with her? If he had come home a little earlier from the office a few days a week, would it have made her happier? If he had taken her out on a few more dates, if he had put forth the effort into continuing to romance her, would she have left so readily?

It’s no surprise to him that she was feeling lonely. He had been neglecting Charlie for work for months before she had sent Tseng that text. It’s not like he wanted to, but her father had been intent on piling as much work as possible on his shoulders, and that meant Charlie spending entire evenings by herself, falling asleep alone with all the lights and the television still on. 

One exchange between them catches his eye before he’s able to back out. _I miss Veld. I wish he was here,_ she had written, only three weeks ago. 

And Tseng’s reply had been, _I know. Let’s have lunch._

The texts between Charlie and Cid are the worst. Every single one makes him sicker. 

_When are you coming back to Rocket Town?_ he asks in one message.

_Thought you didn’t want me back,_ she answers. 

_You know me, Lottie. I’m a fucking liar. I want you to come back real bad._

Reeve doesn’t want to believe it of Charlie. He hadn’t really thought her capable of carrying on an affair, given her inclination for gossip and her busy schedule, but could it be true? She’s never given him a reason to doubt her, and even if she _were_ having an affair, Charlie hasn’t seemed to love him any less lately. 

He tosses her phone to the side, not wanting to look anymore. Cat watches him from the foot of the bed, tail swishing from side to side. 

“What are we going to do, Cat?” he asks, holding out a hand to entice the cat. Cat lifts his head, slowly pushing to his feet to curl up at Reeve’s side. “I know you miss her. Traitor.”

Running a hand down his face, Reeve presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. The quiet of his apartment hits him all at once, and the pictures of he and Charlie set up around the bedroom and the lingering smell of her favorite perfume and the smell of her shampoo on her pillow, it all hits him at once.

He sobs once into his hand, muffled and pathetic and hopeless. 

Is this how Charlie had felt, all those nights he hadn’t come home before she went to bed? Is this how lonely she had felt with the apartment empty save for her and their cat? Is this how she had felt before texting Tseng, desperate for company from the one man who _would_ drop everything for her?

He falls asleep with his fingers still curled around the ring, and with Cait Sith half a world away from him.


	33. Chapter 33

“You know, Reeve, I’ve heard there’s plenty of good-looking girls at the Honey Bee Inn. You might even be able to find someone that looks like Char. I think it’s actually the specialty of a few girls on the plate, too.”

“No, thank you,” he replies flatly, turning his chair slightly away from Scarlet and shuffling the papers in his hands. 

“Too good for prostitutes, are you?”

He blushes furiously, ignoring Heidegger’s snickering. “I’m engaged to Charlotte.”

More snickers, and this time, Palmer joins them, as well. His foot is still in a cast, or else Reeve doesn’t know that he could stop himself from leaping across the table to hit him in his smug, smarmy face. His fingers curl into fists atop the conference table. 

“I’ve heard some people say _I_ even look like Char,” Scarlet remarks, examining her long nails critically. “What do you think, Reeve?”

“I think you look nothing like her,” Reeve replies, trying to focus on the papers in front of him, not having to look at her to acknowledge their differences. He had been under the assumption that it would just be he and Rufus for today’s meeting. “And if I had any interest in visiting the Honey Bee Inn, I’d simply ask Palmer, who I hear visits that establishment very regularly.”

Palmer flushes bright red, mopping his forehead with a soiled-looking handkerchief. “It’s a very clean establishment, I’ll have you know, and very respectable.”

“I’m sure that cast of yours earns you some extra sympathy,” Heidegger chuckles gruffly, making Scarlet titter behind her fingers. His face is still badly bruised from the beating he received from Rufus in Junon. “It must be a real change to have ladies chasing you instead of the other way around, Palmer.”

“You seem a bit touchy,” Scarlet continues, reaching out slowly across the table to touch Reeve’s arm. He jerks away before her fingertips can brush the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’ve never known you to rise to the bait, Director.”

He sighs, but that doesn’t stop Scarlet from touching the papers he has spread around him. 

“It’s a shame Char isn’t here, truly,” she says, scrunching her nose and scowling. With a flick of her neck, the hair falling into her eye is pushed out of her face. “I’ve been meaning to discuss with her the new budget she’s cut for my department.”

“The war is over. Weapons development isn’t a priority,” Reeve tells her, very aware of how much of Scarlet’s budget has been diverted to his own department. “The president approved the budget. If it’s such an issue, why don’t you take it up with him?”

“Char could draft a plan to shut down the entire company, and the president would put his name on it if she batted her eyelashes at him.”

Reeve looks sideways at Scarlet. “She’s your vice president now. President Shinra may not take kindly to outward displays of disrespect.”

“You’ve not forgotten what happened to _me?_ ” Palmer pipes up, trying to lift his foot so it’s visible over the polished table. 

“You might have bigger problems in the near future, Palmer,” Scarlet purrs, looking positively delighted that there’s someone else for her to verbally abuse while they wait on the president. “What are the chances that Char replaces you with that rugged pilot she fell in love with?”

Palmer scoffs, but looks nervous regardless. Reeve tries to look unaffected by this, certainly a jab meant just as much for him as it’s meant for Palmer. “President Shinra would never allow it,” Palmer protests weakly. “He would never allow such gutter trash to walk the halls of us executives!”

“I heard that Turk sent some SOLDIERs to Rocket Town,” she says again, smiling maliciously at Heidegger across from her. “What would you say the chances are that Captain Highwind has any information on our president’s sweet, lovely, beautiful, perfect sister?”

Heidegger laughs roughly again. It’s an accurate impersonation of Rufus, but Reeve isn’t in the mood to laugh, even at Charlie’s brother. 

“If you want to know _my_ opinion,” Scarlet giggles, and Reeve doesn’t really want to know her opinion at all, but he remains quiet, “I don’t think Char would waste her time going all the way to Rocket Town for a new man, not when there’s one already skulking around the western continent looking for her.”

Reeve hesitates, mulling over Scarlet’s words for a moment. “What do you mean?” 

Scarlet scoffs mockingly. “Don’t be an idiot, Reeve, you know _exactly_ who I mean.”

He looks at her for a long time, trying to figure out if she’s being serious or not. “You mean Tseng?” he asks again. “You think she went after Tseng?”

“Why not? Does that surprise you?” Scarlet shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, propping her head up with her elbow. “Char seeking out safety with a man who worships the very ground she walks on? He’s the closest thing to family she has left, besides her brother.”

“Well, okay,” Reeve stammers, giving his head a shake as heat rises to his cheeks. “I think that’s a bit of an overstatement.”

“Not that it matters. She’ll be back eventually, I’m sure, of her own free will,” Scarlet sighs, waving a flippant hand in his direction. “She’s never been able to stay away from her brother for long. But don’t worry. I’m sure she misses you, as well.”

Reeve doesn’t think it’s quite fair that Charlie might still miss Rufus, that she might _return_ for Rufus, despite what he’s done to her. But when has life _ever_ been fair for him?

“I can see why it’s so difficult for her, of course . . . he’s a very handsome boy, and the most desirable bachelor in the world. Not to mention he has more money than the rest of us combined.” Scarlet laughs again, but Reeve tunes her out, until he hears the next words that leave her mouth. “You wouldn’t remember, of course, but there were rumors . . . disgusting rumors about Char and her brother that were floating around the top floors for years.”

“I’m sure the president would rather those rumors not be repeated,” Reeve says firmly, unsure of where to look. Anywhere but at Scarlet, because he’s certain that she’ll be able to see the desire for knowledge in his expression. “You should be careful about what you say now.”

Scarlet shows no signs of stopping. She’s never known the meaning of the word ‘stop’. “Truly, Reeve, I applaud you. Not every man would be so willing to marry the current president’s sloppy seconds.”

Reeve’s neck almost cracks with the speed that he turns his head. “Excuse me?”

“Oh . . . it must have been ten or so years ago now, isn’t that right, Heidegger?” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows together to appear thoughtful. Heidegger grunts, looking away from them. “She can’t have been older than sixteen . . . that was when their father caught them fooling around, or so people have said.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Reeve says hoarsely, adjusting the papers in front of him. That would have been before he had been given a nice office on a keycard level, when most of his job consisted of traveling the globe in search of places to build reactors. “You shouldn’t take stock in such filthy gossip.”

“Oh? Has she refuted it?”

“She claims it was innocent.”

“Char is a dirty liar, and she always has been,” Scarlet snaps abruptly, scowling. “You’re a fool if you believe one word out of her mouth. She’s been lying so long, I think she’s even convinced herself of some things. After all . . .” She leans in close, close enough that Reeve can smell her perfume. “She convinced herself that she loved _you_ , didn't she?”

Reeve doesn’t get the chance to answer. The double doors to the conference room open quickly, and Rufus strolls in with two guards flanking him. Reeve still isn’t used to not seeing at least one Turk around him at all times. 

“Let’s make this quick,” he says, almost coldly. Is it possible he heard what was being spoken of? “And then I want to speak with you privately, Director Tuesti.”

“Yes, sir,” Reeve replies, pushing his paperwork towards Rufus, glad for a distraction, and wishing Charlie were here. “These are the names of all citizens still reported missing. I thought—”

“Do whatever you want, so long as it yields results. I’m more interested in the status of mako reactor one.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I have the report there, as well.”

Rufus scoffs loudly, childishly, and picks up the report, glancing about at his executives. “At least _someone_ in this room is capable.”

Scarlet’s cheeks redden with anger, Heidegger grits his teeth, and Palmer blanches. 

Reeve watches Rufus’s eyes scan the report almost lazily, the tip of his index finger brushing back and forth across his bottom lip in the same way Charlie might. 

_He’s just a boy,_ he can’t help but think. _If I had tried to help him as much as I helped Charlie, would he still be so severe, so waspish, so aggressive?_

After all, it was a desire to help Charlie that led to where they are now. She was only a young girl so obviously neglected despite the shallow attention bestowed upon her by the Turks, eager to escape the clutches of her father and the fate he had in store for her—which is really no different from how her future had turned out.

Married to a Shinra executive, birthing a son to become the next heir of the company, living out a comfortable life at the expense of her freedom. 

Had she ever wanted this? She wanted _him_ , but did she ever think of what that would entail down the line?

No, Reeve thinks. Charlie never did think about consequences to her actions, never did think about the future, never did think about the end goal. 

She hadn’t even understood the way a relationship was supposed to work when they first became involved. She would disappear for days without a word, was uncomfortable sharing personal things with him, used sex as a weapon and a way to avoid talking about things, and despite Reeve being older and far more mature than Charlie, there was a definite power imbalance that took her a long time to adapt to. 

It took longer than Reeve cares to admit to make her realize that he was her equal in private, in the bedroom, and not just her father’s employee to jerk around at will. 

After all, her father had been the most powerful man in the world, and Charlie was very accustomed to that. 

But he had been patient, and he had taken whatever anger she needed to get out, and he had helped her through things she had never done before and spoke words of love to her than no one else ever thought to say. 

All of that effort, all of that time he spent trying to make life a little less difficult for her, now wasted, and Charlie hadn’t even bothered to leave a note. 

“Reeve?”

He blinks, blushing upon realizing the president is looking right at him. “Sorry?”

Rufus purses his lips and sets the reports back on the table. “My sister was right. I can see I’ve been overworking you,” the president says. “Why don’t you take a few days off?”

“Oh, that’s very generous, sir, but I couldn’t possibly—”

“President’s orders, Director, and I won’t hear another word against it,” Rufus interrupts, tapping the table with his knuckles. “Now, I’ve been told that some of you are unhappy about the latest budget cuts. I would hear your complaints now, but I make no promises about how I’ll respond, so I would tread carefully, if I were you.”

Reeve glances furtively at Scarlet. For all her talk, she doesn’t look eager to bring up her grievances in front of Rufus. 

“No one?” Rufus frowns, looking around before his pale eyes settle on Scarlet. “Cat got your tongue, Scarlet?”

The meeting is quick, and when Rufus dismisses Palmer, Heidegger, and Scarlet, Reeve finds his heart picking up the pace again. 

Rufus sends his guards away, as well, urging them to stand outside the door to give them privacy. That makes Reeve’s heart beat even _faster._

“You know . . .” Rufus begins, his eyes slightly glazed over as he watches the closed door. “Whenever Charlie would get upset about the presidency, I used to tell her something. ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown.’ It was in a book our mother used to read to us.”

Reeve considers him. “Are you all right, Mr. President?”

Rufus laughs, chuckling very warmly. 

“What’s so funny, sir?”

“Nothing, it’s just . . .” Rufus exhales softly, shaking his head. “You and Charlie are the only ones who’ve bothered to ask.”

He feels he’s being put in a very awkward situation. He will never be able to escape Shinra now. He can either fight against it, or try to mend the broken trust between him and the president in the hopes that things could be better. 

Inhaling deeply, Reeve rasps, “Rufus.”

Rufus’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, eyes wide with surprise. But the president is not jumping over the table to strangle him, nor is he giving him a vicious and brutal scolding. “What is it?” Rufus asks impatiently after a moment.

“I think Charlie is going to Tseng.”

For a horrible minute, Reeve thinks he may have been too bold. Rufus looks angry, disappointed, angry again, disappointed once more, and then settles on an expression that reminds him of Charlie, lost in thought. “Why would she do that?” 

Reeve almost feels sorry for him. He doesn’t want to overstep, to say too much, but how can Rufus not understand why Charlie would want to get away from him? “I think that . . . you have put your sister in a very difficult position,” he begins slowly, trying to watch Rufus’s reaction closely. 

Rufus bites down on his lower lip, resting both of his elbows on the table. “Well?” he urges. “What difficult position do you suppose I’ve put Charlie in? I’ve been good to her. I’ve been here for her. I’ve loved her. I’ve done everything she’s asked of me.” His gaze never falters. “Go on, you can be honest.”

He can’t find it in himself to tell the president that he shouldn’t have hit Charlie. There are several things he wishes he could say, but none of them make it past the lump in his throat. He’s too afraid that Charlie’s disappearance has put Rufus on edge, and he’s too afraid that one wrong word will send Rufus into a blind fury. 

Reeve clears his throat, but doesn’t answer. 

“Why do you even want to marry my sister?” Rufus asks again, clearly more upset with Reeve’s lack of an answer. 

He opens his mouth to answer, shrugging his shoulders in a defeated sort of way. “I love her,” he admits. He isn’t going to discuss it in minute detail with her brother. “I love your sister very much.”

“It’s hard work, you know.”

Reeve smiles weakly. “It’s hard work, but certainly not unrewarding work.”

Rufus looks at him for a long time, his jaw clenched, his eyes closing for a moment. He looks exhausted up close, his skin paler, almost gray. “How is everything with our feline friend?”

“Still waiting on Avalanche to arrive, sir. Should I alert the staff that Charlie may be arriving with them?”

“No,” Rufus replies. “I don’t want criminals-turned-bounty-hunters searching for my sister, hoping for a reward. That will only lead to real kidnapping attempts. I don’t want her harmed, and I don’t want any trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rufus pushes himself to his feet. “Then I think we’re done here. Enjoy your brief vacation, Director.”

“For what it’s worth,” Reeve says again, standing with the president and buttoning his suit jacket with one deft hand, “I think you’re doing a wonderful job. You’ve inherited a fine mess from your father, but I appreciate your willingness to fix it.”

Rufus looks skeptical, eyebrows knitting together. He curls one hand around the back of his chair. “Are you coming onto me?”

“What? No, I was—I was only trying to give you a compliment and my honest opinion, Mr. President.”

A flush creeps up the back of Rufus’s pale neck and he stiffens, lowering his hand to his side. “Forgive me,” he mutters. “Thank you for your support, Director.” He inclines his head awkwardly, a polite and silent farewell instead of some nasty threat. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a fine job, as well.”

* * *

Charlie isn’t out of shape. In fact, she thinks she’s relatively _in_ shape. 

She and Reeve, when they used to have the time to spare, would spend most of their evenings in the company gym (though Charlie had spent most of her time there openly admiring Reeve whenever he lifted enough weight to make his biceps strain), and she used to run a lot when she was younger, through the streets of Costa del Sol with a Turk trailing a few feet behind, sweating in their dark suit. 

But Mount Corel is not the flat streets of Costa del Sol, nor is it a treadmill in the Shinra Building. 

The sun, while not bestowing upon them the blazing heat of the coastal tourist attraction, shines down on them all morning and all afternoon. The mountains are bare, and Charlie knows there’s a mako reactor nearby that likely is the cause of that. It gives them no shelter from the sun or heat, and it means they all move a little slower and are forced to ration their water as best they can without going too thirsty.

They’re all sweating before noon, Yuffie complains loudly, and Red is panting heavily. He thanks Charlie when she spares some of her cool water to drip onto his muzzle. She’ll be thirsty, but she’s sure Aerith will share with her if she becomes completely dehydrated.

It’s the first time Red has thanked her for anything, and a few minutes afterwards, his teeth clamp down hard on the back of her shirt to pull her to safety as she missteps upon a rotten part of the old train tracks just as she reaches solid land again, and nearly plunges down the side of the mountain to her death.

“Charlie! Are you okay?” Aerith is at her side in an instant, kneeling down to where Charlie sits on the dirt mountain path. 

“Yeah,” Charlie breathes, pushing herself to her feet. Her gun has been dislodged in the confusion. She turns around to find it, but Barret is already stooping awkwardly to pick it up. It looks tiny in his hands. 

“Dropped somethin’,” he says, holding it out for her. “It’s all sweaty. You ain’t got a holster for it?”

“No,” she answers quickly, glancing into his eyes before swiping the gun from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“Here.” Barret unbuckles something wrapped around his thick waist, moving closer to her. Charlie attempts to back away, but he gives her an incredulous look and she has the grace to blush. “Your gun should fit in here, but the belt itself’s gonna be a little big. You ain’t half the glutton your daddy was.”

Charlie holds her hands up as Barret helps buckle the holster around her waist. He pulls extra tight, tight enough to make her yelp. “It’s not a corset,” she hisses. “Easy.”

When Barret steps back to admire his handiwork, he laughs loudly. “Not gonna lie, it feels pretty good to see you so stressed out, Shinra.”

She looks down at herself. The belt is three times too big for her, and drapes awkwardly down her side. A small smile creeps onto her face without warning, and she looks around and everything smiling at the ridiculous sight. Even Cloud is smiling. Even Red. 

It’s the first time _she’s_ smiled since they left Costa del Sol. “It’s not polite to stare,” she chastises them all, adjusting the bag on her back and holstering her gun. 

“We got a smile out of you, at least,” Tifa teases, leading the way up the trail. 

Nestled into the barren mountainside a few miles further onward is the reactor, an older model. This one looks to be falling in disrepair, not quite as cared for as the ones in Midgar. The land is dry and crumbles underneath their feet, and flying monsters swoop at them until Barret shoots them from the sky.

“This was one of the first mako reactors Shinra built. Reeve used to tell me it used to be green here,” Charlie tells them all as they walk slowly over a rickety bridge that will lead them towards the other side of Mount Corel. The smell of mako is strong here. “There was an explosion a few years ago, but it looks like they’ve hardly tried to fix it.”

“What happened to it? Malfunction?” Cloud asks.

“Some rebel townspeople from Corel attacked the reactor and—”

“The _townspeople!_ ” Barret suddenly shouts, making Charlie jump. “Don’t make me laugh. Shouldn’t’ve let myself forget you’re a _Shinra_.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlie scoffs, turning around to face Barret, walking backwards as her feet touch solid ground again. “How would you know anything about the Corel reactor? That’s classified Shinra information.”

“What would _I_ know ‘bout Corel?” Barret yells at her, holding his gun arm up to the sky, preparing to shoot. It’s hard to discern how angry he really is with his sunglasses on, unable to see his eyes, but judging by his voice, he’s furious. “You’re right, Shinra, you’re right—I dunno shit ‘bout Corel! You know _everything!_ Chief fuckin’ Liar is gonna preach to us ‘bout _Corel!_ ” He growls at the open sky. “Let’s just keep movin’, y’all. The closer we get to the other side of this mountain, the less time we gotta spend in the company of some Shinra brat.”

He runs off without another word, leaving Charlie bewildered, as well as the rest of his friends. “Did I . . . say something?” she asks desperately, but no one has any answers for her, and they’re forced to press on quickly in order to keep up with Barret.

They make camp just below the peak of Mount Corel, on the other side of the mountain. It rains that night, but Charlie is able to find shelter underneath an overhang that keeps most of the rain off her. 

The Gold Saucer is near here. If she can get to the Gold Saucer, she’ll be safe there, and she’ll be able to use a phone to contact Tseng, and then she’ll be safe again, among friends, among _family._

And what happens then? Charlie still hasn’t given it much thought. The Turks will bring her home, where she’ll be watched so closely that she’ll never have the chance to leave the city or be alone again. She should have at least formed a plan before taking off.

She couldn’t help herself. She was terrified of facing Reeve in the morning and hearing his confessions (if he even was going to tell her anything at all). She was terrified of confessing to _him_ , of telling him about the things she had done to find comfort in her childhood. 

She was terrified of facing Rufus again, afraid that she would be unable to stay mad at him. She was afraid of falling back into familiar patterns and not being able to help herself. 

Charlie lifts her head from the backpack she uses as a pillow. Pulling a flashlight out from a side pocket and holding it between her teeth, she digs around in the hidden pockets for two photographs. 

The rain comes down hard, slapping against the rock face and muffling the distant, growling thunder that accompanies it. Some of it splashes back onto her face, but it’s welcome after a long day of mountain climbing, and even though it’s freezing, she isn’t about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth. 

The one picture she’s brought with her is one she’s been carrying around since she found it, the family photo that she had found in her father’s desk drawer. She wonders if it might be a good idea to show her mother’s picture to some backwater villagers. It might be that she had wanted to hide from Shinra’s influence, and maybe someone had seen her along the way.

The second picture is one she’d stolen from the top of Rufus’s dresser in his bedroom at the villa. It had just been lying there, handled recently due to the lack of dust on it, and it had been too sweet to leave behind. 

It’s an old picture, one of Charlie and Rufus older than six, but certainly no older than ten. It must have been taken before their mother left because their father would never have taken such a picture.

The two of them are sleeping in the back of a car, still in their swimsuits with towels wrapped around their shoulders, their hair wet and their fingers twined together at their sides. Held slightly upright by their seatbelts, Charlie and Rufus are leaning against one another, his little head resting on her shoulder and Charlie’s cheek upon the top of his head. 

How could a boy so sweet and so loving become someone so cold and so callous and unaffected? 

When did she start becoming afraid of her brother? Had he always been this way? Always complaining that no one loved him like they loved Charlie, but refusing to let anyone in, refusing to lower his walls to anyone but Charlie. 

Was Reeve right the whole time about her brother? 

_No_ , she thinks, _what does Reeve know about Rufus?_

How could she leave Rufus to his own devices without so much as a real _friend_ to be there for him? He needs her, just as much as she needs him. She knows that he’s still Rufus, her sweet little brother, starved for affection and love, the death of their father genuinely hurting him. 

Her father did that to him. Her father did everything, caused everything, hurt people and took lives. 

The rain muffles not just the thunder that night, but her sobs.

* * *

“Dinner, D.”

Dark Nation slinks over to the kitchen, heading for the scraps of meat that have been in the fridge for days. Rufus watches him eat, scooping rice out of a takeout box from before his departure to Junon. It’s not good, but he can’t cook and his cabinets are still empty. 

He thought he would appreciate being back in Midgar, but it feels just like being in Costa del Sol all over again. Charlie’s missing, Reeve is afraid of him, all the Turks are halfway across the world, and his other executives are likely already plotting against him. 

He’s never had the luxury of _friends_. A few Turks had attempted, over the years, to chip down the walls he’s built around him, but none had actually succeeded. They had all been too enamored with Charlie’s wit and genius and beauty to ever put forward the same amount of effort towards _him_. 

They were all so patronizing, always asking questions, always wondering why he preferred solitude, always trying to encourage him to open up, to be more like _Charlie_. Tseng had come the closest, but every time Rufus felt himself slipping, felt himself becoming vulnerable, he would close up all over again and they would be back to square one.

Charlie had fooled them all, had spouted lies to cover her true feelings, tricking them with smiles and laughter to hide how she was really feeling. The only person who _ever_ knew how she really felt was him, and those confessions had never come cheap, always following whatever comfort he was able to give her. 

But a few kisses was a decent price to pay to see a side of Charlie no one else saw, and he didn’t mind lying still for a few minutes so she could have her fun, only to collapse beside him afterwards and cry into his neck, clinging to him. 

Part of him worries that he’ll never see Charlie again. She’s not a fighter, and Rufus isn’t certain that she’s even able to properly use a gun (that had been her own fault, never willing to learn). If faced with a group of monsters, it’s likely they’ll literally eat her alive. 

And if she is with Avalanche, he doesn’t think it very likely they’re going to work hard to keep her alive.

Could Reeve have been onto something when he suggested Charlie might be running to Tseng? 

With his mouth still tasting of hard, old rice, Rufus sits down on the sofa in the living room, turning on the television, only to be greeted with a picture of himself and Charlie in Junon, just before the inauguration parade. 

How could someone so beautiful and so radiant possibly be so sad? Was Charlie really so unhappy with her life that she thought this the best course of action? Was it Reeve that made her so unhappy? Was it Cid? Rocket Town had changed her, had seemed to warp her perspective of Shinra Inc. a little more than before. 

And then, a horrible thought occurs to him: _Was it me? Did I do this?_

All right, he shouldn’t have hit her, but she made him so damn angry that he couldn’t help himself. He had only intended to slap her around a few times. He hadn’t meant for it to go so far, but when he slipped the belt off around his waist, he felt like a man possessed. 

And he had seen the fear in her eyes when he initially reached for his belt. She was terrified of him at that moment, afraid of what he might do to her. She thought he was finally going to take what she’s been denying him all these years, and to see horror flash across her face and to see her knees clamp shut at the mere thought of it was enough to send him over the edge.

How could she think that he would be anything other than gentle? How could Charlie think that he wouldn’t adhere to her every wish, that he wouldn’t take care of her, that he wouldn’t see to it that she never felt so loved in her life? 

Tseng had recommended, several times, that Rufus find a girlfriend to keep the other executives from talking. Not only would it keep his mind preoccupied from the intrusive thoughts about his own sister, but it would project a positive image of himself to the people of the world, who might see Rufus’s settling down as something to look forward to. 

A wedding would bring hope to Midgar again, Tseng had claimed. But Rufus thinks he just wants to make sure Charlie isn’t being taken advantage of anymore by the brother that claims to love her. And he does, he _does_ love her. 

It’s not like Rufus disagrees, but he doesn’t have the time or energy to devote to a woman right now. He doesn’t have the time to work at establishing a deep and meaningful relationship with someone else, and he doesn’t really want to. No one else could ever understand, and he’s not about to tell some stranger everything about his life, only for them to turn around and laugh in his face about his sob story. 

Tseng has known for years, of course, ever since walking into the villa at Costa del Sol to find himself and Charlie on the sofa of the living room, joined at the mouth and one of his hands up her shirt. None of them had spoken about it, and things had moved on as normal. 

And then he had walked in on them a few years later, when Charlie had given into Rufus for the first time in a long time, having been a little too preoccupied with Reeve to give Rufus the attention she used to. 

There was no excuse for what Tseng saw that day, the Shinra children half-naked and fondling each other in his childhood bed. 

“Interested?” Rufus had snapped, when he felt Tseng had been standing in the doorway for a little too long, taking in the awkward scene. “Join us or leave.”

Charlie had blushed and hidden her face in the crook of Rufus’s arm, whining his name, but Rufus hadn’t looked away from Tseng’s eyes until the Turk had left them alone with a pink dusting across his cheeks, never to speak of it again.

And now the two of them, the two people who cared about him most over the years, are going to probably start plotting the downfall of President Rufus Shinra right behind his back.

What is he supposed to do about that? How is that fair?

If he does something to Charlotte, he’ll turn Tseng against him. If he does something to Tseng, he’ll turn Charlotte against him. Not that he wants to hurt either of them, but he has to keep them in line, has to show them that traitors don’t go unpunished. 

_Father would have held Reeve hostage,_ he thinks bitterly. But Reeve is far too valuable to him now, and the only potential ally he really has remaining to him with any power at all. Does he want to risk Reeve betraying him, as well?

_I thought I would feel better,_ he tells himself. _I thought I would be happier._

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was going to be the best president Shinra would ever see, better than his father by far. He was going to create an empire beyond the scope of his own dead father. He thought Charlie would give up her Avalanche dreams now that their father is gone. He thought Charlie might love him again without anyone to keep them apart. 

_I wanted to do it with Charlie as my vice president,_ he can’t help but think. _I wanted to do it with Tseng. I wanted it to be the three of us. Just like it always has been._

The truth is, Rufus has been away from Midgar for too long. In the years that he’s been gone, Charlie has found other friends, other people who love and care about her. He envies her, envies the way people aren’t afraid to be so open and friendly with her. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard the Turks refer to him as anything other than “sir” or “Mr. President” or “Mr. Vice President”. 

Yet Reeve had called him by his first name today. Rufus hadn’t expected something so bold from him, but it was not unwelcome. 

The compliment had caught him off guard, however. Compliments were always reserved for Charlie. 

“Stop it,” he quietly chastises his overgrown mutt, nudging his jaw away with his foot. “Go away. I want to be alone right now.”

Rufus watches Dark Nation saunter off. 

He doesn’t know why he’s sent his dog away. The last thing he wants right now is to be alone. He’s getting tired of that. 

* * *

It’s the first time he’s been in Rocket Town since the day of the failed launch. 

He shouldn’t be here, but with the hunt for Sephiroth bringing them further west, he figured Rocket Town wasn’t too out of the way. Besides, he has a promise he needs to make good on, and _not_ checking Rocket Town would be an oversight only a rookie would make. 

Reno and Rude had understood, as he knew they would. Reno had even offered to join him, but Tseng needed the other Turks to pick up his slack, despite knowing it was something he shouldn’t have asked of them. Elena was a bit more hesitant about giving her approval, but it’s not like her approval was even really necessary, and she had vocalized her desire to see Charlotte safe in the end. 

The town is quiet when he makes his way into the plaza, smoothing his hair back in the face of the wintry breeze. Perhaps the citizens had all locked themselves away upon hearing the several Shinra helicopters coming to land just outside the town. 

Looming over the buildings that make up the town is the crooked figure of Shinra No. 26, Charlotte’s pride and joy. It was all she talked about for months, and then her ramblings had been focused more on Cid, and when she would catch herself talking about the pilot, she would blush and quickly move on to another subject.

He had been sorry to see the launch fail. Charlotte had walked around with a heavy heart for months afterwards, and he could never find the proper words of sympathy to say to her. Nothing seemed sincere enough, and he chose to say nothing rather than say something insincere that might have upset her more. 

Tseng still remembers the long flight back to Junon with the captain. He had grumbled to himself the entire time, fidgeting around all the while. When Tseng had told him, halfway through their trip, “Miss Shinra has ordered me to hear your complaints. I don’t know how you expect me to hear anything with you mumbling under your breath,” Cid had given him an earful.

“Well, you can tell _Miss Shinra_ that I only got one damn thing to say to her,” he had hissed, and there had been fearlessness in his eyes. “She’s gotta get that fuckin’ stick outta her ass if—”

Something in him had snapped then. Within seconds, Tseng found himself kneeling on the captain’s chest, his left hand pinning Cid’s throat to the metal flooring of the helicopter while his right hand rained blow after blow into the side of the captain’s head. 

He hopes today doesn’t inspire that same brutality. He would hate for it to end a bloody mess, and he would hate for Charlotte to find out that he’d done something to someone she cared about. 

“It’s this one,” he tells the SOLDIERs lazily, gesturing with his chin towards the front door of the captain’s home, the home with the rocket sitting in the backyard. 

Tseng allows the three infantrymen to step forward, followed by the two third-class SOLDIERs that had nothing better to do than come here, searching for some sign of Charlotte. He hadn’t wanted to leave any stone unturned, despite his steadfast assurance that she will, eventually, make her way to _him_. 

What she expects from him is still something he hasn’t worked out yet. Help, surely, but there’s nothing he can do for her, not while her brother is the president. 

One of the infantrymen knocks hard on the door. After a few seconds of silence from within, he knocks again, this time louder. “Open up!”

The door swings open, but it isn’t the captain standing before them. A woman, vaguely familiar, is standing wide-eyed in the threshold, round-faced and pink-cheeked and dressed in clothes that aren’t very flattering. She pushes her round glasses up to the bridge of her curved nose, eyes flicking between each of the men in turn.

“Can I help you?” she asks timidly.

Tseng steps forward, smiling politely at her. “We’re looking for Cid Highwind. May we come in?”

* * *

He doesn’t remember how it started. 

All he remembers—as gloved knuckles connect with his temple again—is a dirty magazine with Charlie on the cover being thrown on the table in front of him, all the SOLDIERs and infantrymen being sent outside, and then . . . 

He doesn’t even remember why they came here, and each time he blinks, he feels like he’s missing more and more time. The pain is so bad, knuckles crunching against his cheek, shattering his jaw, knocking one of his back teeth loose, splitting his lip and blacking his eye, knocking the wind out of him and breaking his nose. 

“Don’t _ever_ ,” the Turk bastard tells him, holding him up by the collar of his shirt, “contact her again.”

Cid doesn’t think he can talk. The entire room is swimming around him, and the only sound he can make is a rasping groan that can hardly be heard over the Turk’s heavy breathing. If he could talk, he might say something like, _anything you say, boss, ain’t no woman in the world that’s worth a beating this bad, fucking hell._

He recognizes the face, though. The same damn bootlicker that beat him on the flight back to Junon after Charlie sacked him. He had mistaken the suit for her boyfriend at first, upon receiving his first beating on the floor of the helicopter bound for his home, because no one in their right mind would get so riled up at the suggestion that Charlie might have a stick up her ass.

To be fair, it was true. Anyone could have seen that.

When the hand clutching his shirt pulls away, Cid’s head falls heavily to the hardwood floor. Somewhere around him, Shera is sobbing, but he can’t see her. He only stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan go round and around, making him dizzy. He might be blind in one eye. Sure seems like it. 

His breath comes raggedly. He certainly hadn’t been expecting anything like this to happen today. He was just watching a little TV. Why did they come again?

The Turk straightens, the magazine held in his hand. The one of Charlie on that jeweled throne, legs spread and a crown sitting pretty on her head. He takes one quick look at the cover and throws it at Cid. It lands on his heaving chest. 

That’s right. He had come for Charlie, like Charlie was hiding under his bed or something. She was missing, the Turk said. And he knew they’ve been talking to each other. He had been screening her phone, the Turk said. Charlie was his responsibility, the Turk said, and it would look bad for him if he didn’t check everywhere for her.

They had torn apart his home and strewn his things all over the floors, upended dresser drawers and pulled all his shit out of the cabinets. They didn’t care when Cid told them Charlie wasn’t hiding in his closet or under his bathroom sink or in the attic of his house.

Then one of the SOLDIERs had found the magazine in his nightstand drawer. Cid isn’t quite sure how much time was between the discovery of the magazine and the brutal beating he hadn’t asked for.

“Call this number if the vice president finds her way here,” the Turk says coolly, and Cid is able to turn his head just slightly enough to see him setting a small business card down on the counter closest to the door. “Her safety is our top priority. I can promise that no harm will come to her.”

Cid blinks painfully at him from the kitchen floor.

“And I hope I can trust the both of you to keep her disappearance quiet?” he continues, smiling down at Cid coldly. “If people believe there might be a reward for the return of the vice president, she may attract more would-be heroes, eager for a large sum of gil.”

Cid gets the point. Undesirables going after a vulnerable Vice President Charlotte Shinra has some implications he doesn’t want to consider, despite everything. 

He hardly hears the Turk leave, but Shera is on her knees beside him the moment the door closes. “Are you okay?” she asks, and Cid allows his eyes to flutter closed. “You need to see a doctor, Captain.”

“I’m fine—”

“You need to see a doctor.”

“Just need a cigarette. You good?”

When she doesn’t answer right away, Cid opens his eyes again to look up into her own. Their house is a fucking mess, there’s blood all over the kitchen floor, Shera’s bedroom has been ransacked. There’s a pinched look to her face, and she goes to touch his cheek, but pulls away at the last second and shakes her head. 

“I’m okay,” she whispers. “Just a little scared, I guess.”

“Don’t be. Fuckin’ goon is gone now.” 

It’s so incredibly painful to speak. His mouth is throbbing. He wonders if his tooth is still laying around. Maybe he accidentally swallowed it in the confusion. The tip of his tongue touches the empty space of gum, but it hurts too bad and it tastes like blood.

“They hurt you?” he asks again.

“No.”

Cid nods—at least, he thinks he does. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Shera looks him up and down. He probably looks pathetic. Judging by her expression, she thinks he’s pathetic, too. “We should get you to a doctor. I’ll drive you.”

“I ain’t walkin’ nowhere,” he croaks. “Leave me to die here, Shera.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she says sweetly, and it almost makes Cid smile. It’s so sweet that he could cry, if he’s not crying already. Leave it to him to have some Shinra fucks walk right into his house and fuck it all up and scare Shera and leave him dying on his own floor. And yet Shera’s still here. “Let me call someone. I’ll have someone come see you. I’ll just be a minute. Hang in there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Cid closes his eyes again, focusing on breathing. His ribs hurt from the way the Turk’s foot had pressed hard against his chest. He thinks he might have suffered a few kicks, but he can’t remember.

_So Charlie’s missing_ , he thinks, casting around for something else to think about besides the pain, _and that Turk thought she might have come here._

Not like it matters now. He hopes she _doesn’t_ come here. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle another round with that slick-haired son of a bitch. 

Not even Charlie’s worth that. 


	34. Chapter 34

North Corel is . . . a shithole.

She would never say it out loud, but it’s the most accurate word she can think of upon seeing it for the first time.

Thankfully, Yuffie says it for her, scrunching her nose. “What a dump.”

It’s not a town, nor a village. It’s not the makeshift metal-and-wood shelters like in the Midgar slums. It’s not even the base camp that littered the ground around the Shinra No. 26 all those years ago. 

It’s not like anything she’s ever seen before; always having taken a private entrance to the Shinra-owned Gold Saucer or using the helipad nearer to the tram station, she’s never had to make the drive through North Corel, and now she knows why. 

It’s a scrapyard of desolation and poverty and tragedy, a tiny community with canvas tents serving as homes and two derelict wooden buildings with collapsing roofs and crumbling foundations. The dirt pathways are lined with trash, and there’s a stink that lingers in the air that probably is a thousand times worse during the hot months, a stink that smells like feces. 

_Do people live like this? How?_

“Take a good long look, Shinra,” Barret tells her as they reach the end of the train tracks, crossing over into the scrappy territory. “This is what your daddy’s company did to Corel and its people. Slaughtered ‘em, just like the people in Sector Seven.”

Charlie does just that, taking a long look around her. She doesn’t have any idea what Corel had looked like to begin with, but surely it was better than this. Anything is better than this. 

“What if they recognize me?” she asks softly, suddenly worried that their excursion to the Gold Saucer will end just before reaching the tram. 

“Ain’t no one here gonna recognize you,” Barret answers in a low voice. “Shinra propaganda don’t reach this town. They don’t want nothin’ to do with you and your kind.”

He goes on ahead, and Charlie hesitates, watching the others move past her. Yuffie shoots her a dirty look, but she’s only a dumb kid, and she only hates Charlie for a last name she never asked for.

Tifa is the first to catch up to Barret, but he stops, turning to face them all. “Y’all hang back,” he announces, exchanging a lingering look with Charlie that communicates a flaming rage below the surface. “Let me handle this.”

Corel had been razed to the ground years ago, in the hopes of wiping out the rebel faction that had formed among the townspeople. They had blown the reactor, or attempted to. 

A coal town, Reeve had told her, long ago. The new mako reactors would make coal obsolete, and the village had no choice but to comply with Shinra’s wishes, so a reactor was built and Charlie has to believe that mako made their lives better.

All of that information had been learned after the fact, of course. She couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. None of this is her fault, and she knows it . . .

But something nags at the back of her mind. An entire village, burned to the ground. Her father was never one for subtlety, preferring to make a show of his power and punishment, preferring to show everyone what Shinra Inc. is capable of. To destroy an entire town to wipe out a handful of people sounds very familiar.

Their arrival has not gone unnoticed. Several people are beginning to come out of their tents and shelters, and Charlie spies three men watching from an alcove where junk has been set up in the form of a shop. If they do recognize her, they don’t say anything, eyes flicking over her as quickly as the others. 

With Barret walking solemnly into the center of the “town”, three men approach. They’re all filthy, covered in sweat and dirt, their skin browned by the sun. Barret’s head hangs low, the sun beating down on the back of his neck as one of the younger men walks right up to him, looking up into his face. 

And without warning, the young man winds his arm up, and his knuckles connect hard with the side of Barret’s face.

Tifa and Aerith both gasp. Cloud has to keep Yuffie from saying something. Charlie can hear Red XIII growling quietly from in front of her. The display has shocked her to the point of complete silence, especially when she sees that Barret hasn’t done anything to retaliate or defend himself.

“Never thought I’d see your face again,” the young man says, folding his arms over his chest. His shirt is filled with holes, and the light jacket he wears over it looks like it hasn’t been washed in years.

“They kick you out of another town or somethin’?” another man asks, one that looks strikingly similar to the man who had punched Barret. “You destroy everything you touch.”

“Look around you!” The third man opens his arms to gesture around them. “It’s all your fault that North Corel’s turned into a garbage heap.”

Charlie purses her lips. Could it have been Barret who had blown the reactor in Corel? He hadn’t had any reservations about blowing the ones in Midgar. 

Barret continues to say nothing. Charlie feels sorry for him, probably feeling humiliated in front of his friends, probably regretting ever setting foot here. Whatever Barret is, whatever he has done, surely he isn’t at fault for the burning of Corel. 

That was Shinra’s fault. Not the rebel faction they had wanted to crush. It was her father who commanded the burning of the coal-mining village in the end, and it was her father who should have carried that weight, not Barret. 

“I’m sorry,” Barret finally says, his eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses. He sounds positively defeated, a different man than the one who had turned his gun on her in the ship bound from Junon to Costa del Sol. 

The first man scoffs, cursing at Barret. “You ain’t even worth the effort. Look at him. Look at his arm. He’s a _freak_ ,” he says, spitting on the ground at Barret’s feet before walking away with the rest of his friends.

“Let’s go,” Barret growls at the rest of his party. “We can hitch a ride to the Gold Saucer over this way.”

Charlie’s left behind, as usual. 

It’s a mile or so to the Gold Saucer’s tram station from North Corel. Charlie’s just grateful that it’s relatively flat land compared to the harsh terrain they had faced upon climbing and descending Mount Corel. She doesn’t want to see another bridge in her life. 

It’s dry here, and the wind picks up the dust and blows it into her eyes. Charlie can feel the mud caking onto her smooth skin. Cloud had told them it would prevent sunburn. Aerith and Tifa had done it after Cloud, and Charlie hadn’t wanted to be left out, allowing Aerith to smear mud all over her face. Yuffie outright refused to put mud near her mouth and eyes. 

She remembers Veld always making sure she put sunscreen on before going to the beach. Her fair skin would burn quickly without it. 

The one time she didn’t listen, she had been in pain for days, walking around the villa in loose-fitting clothes and complaining to anyone who would listen. Tseng must have told her a thousand times over the course of two days to stop peeling and picking at it. 

Shifting her bag again, which seems to grow heavier with every step, Charlie decides to try once more with Barret. If it doesn’t work, they can find privacy at the Gold Saucer until it’s time to move on again (if she even accompanies them further than the Gold Saucer, and she hopes not).

Charlie forces herself to move quickly, catching up to Barret and his long strides. He doesn’t even acknowledge her presence, which is a start. At least he isn’t screaming in her face, blaming her for every little thing wrong with the world. 

“What was that?” she asks, wondering if she might have had better luck opening her question a little more gently. “How could you let those people say those horrible things to you?”

“I didn’t see you steppin’ up to take the blame.”

Something snaps in her. Charlie reaches out for his good arm, needing to use two hands to grab hold of his wrist, stopping him. “Is that what you want?” she snaps, once he’s facing her and his friends ( _his_ friends, _her_ bodyguards and companions) have caught up to witness their argument. “You want me to go back and take responsibility for something that was completely out of my control? Will that make you happy? Will that make you respect me even just a _little_?”

Barret jerks his arm away from her, looking around at everyone. “I don’t owe you shit, Shinra, especially not an explanation.”

“Barret, I want to help you—”

“ _You_ wanna help _me?_ ” he scoffs. “Then shut up and stop botherin’ me all the goddamn time! You already know the whole damn story, don’t you? ‘Cause your Shinra ass knows _everything_ already!”

“If you’re so certain that my version of events is wrong, then you have to tell me!” she shouts back. “How am I supposed to help you if you won’t tell me what happened?”

“I don’t need or want your fucking help!”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause look at you!” Barret yells, his voice echoing throughout the flat, dusty path. “You’re the vice president of Shinra fuckin’ Inc.! For all your talk of wantin’ to help people, you ain’t any different. What the hell have you ever done for the people? All them people sufferin’ below the plate?”

“I funded an orphanage in Sector Five,” she counters, holding up her hand to count on her fingers. “I provided food to those that didn’t have it, gave money to those in need, put on multiple fundraisers to raise money for the housing project in Sector Seven, made a million gil donation to a school that didn’t have running water—”

“That’s right,” Barret interrupts, shaking his head. “Keep feedin’ your damn ego.”

“And, if I had known—” Charlie turns her gaze on Red XIII, who sits patiently while his companions argue—“I wouldn’t have left you for Hojo. I know the kind of man he is. I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Red tells her, and it shocks her. She still isn’t used to seeing him and hearing him speak. “Professor Hojo kept many secrets, even from the president himself, I’m sure.”

“Don’t go easy on her, Red,” Barret hisses, his gun looking heavy on his arm. “Remember who she is now. A _Shinra_.”

“I helped build the bombs that you used for the reactors,” she blurts out.

She had been saving that fact for a desperate situation, like waking to find a sword at her throat or a gun in her face. It was going to be her last ditch effort to save herself, a confession that might buy her a few more minutes to plan an escape, but not a confession she really wants to be known. 

It makes Barret stop in his tracks. Charlie turns to face them all, trying to look dignified, but there’s mud on her face and her hair is a mess and she hasn’t bathed in three days. 

“What bombs?” Yuffie asks, looking around. She looks ridiculous in her little costume, and Charlie thinks she’s a brat, but she’s better at fighting than Charlie. “You built bombs?”

This information does not have its intended effect, however. Cloud and Aerith already know this, and all it seems to do is make Barret angrier. 

Barret takes three steps—that’s all it takes for him to step right up to her, towering over her. “So it’s _your_ damn fault all those people are dead—”

“Jessie built the first bomb,” Charlie protests, her hands a little sweaty. “I gave her the directions, and if she had followed them, the bomb would only have blown the core—”

“Don’t you _dare_ go blamin’ Jessie for that!” Barret roars, and with his good hand, he twists his fat fingers into the front of her shirt and lifts her bodily off the ground. “She’s dead now ‘cause of you!”

“Put me down!” Charlie screams in his face, kicking her legs out, her fingers scrabbling for purchase around his thick wrist. “Put me down _now!_ ”

“Barret! Stop!” Tifa shouts, running forward. “Let her go!”

Barret releases Charlie, and she falls to her hands and knees, panting. Her heart is hammering against her chest, but she pushes herself to her feet even as she catches her breath. 

“You hear what she said?” Barret rasps, and Charlie catches sight of something besides anger in his face, something that she’s very familiar with. “You hear what she said about Jessie? Mako reactor one—that was _her_ fault!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Cloud says suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Jessie told me herself she used a stronger blasting agent than what the instructions called for.”

Charlie’s chest is heaving. She rubs at the back of her neck, where the collar of her t-shirt rubbed against her skin. _It wasn’t my fault after all. I knew it couldn’t have been me. I knew I made the bomb right._

“Reeve and I were there the night of the bombing, in a restaurant by the reactor.” She doesn’t want to think about it, remembering Reeve buried beneath the rubble, his face coated with blood. Thinking about him makes her want to cry. “But I built the second bomb myself. I don’t know what went wrong. It should have been perfect—”

“You mean you don’t know?” Tifa turns to face her, her eyebrows furrowed together. 

Charlie frowns. “Know what?”

“Shinra blew reactor five,” he replies plainly, but it feels as if the words have struck her across the face. “That explosion wasn’t us. They only wanted people to think it was us.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlie scoffs, blinking stupidly at Cloud. “That’s—that’s just—” She shakes her head. “No, I watched you plant the bomb. I watched you make your way through the reactor—you, Barret, and Cloud—”

“So you’re sayin’ all that shit you said in that speech . . .” Barret rubs at his chin, just as confused as everyone else is. 

“My father wanted to blame me for the bombings,” she tries to explain, but everything feels very foggy right now. She needs to sleep in a bed. “He wanted a reason to disown me, to distance me from the company. I never wanted to give that speech, but he ordered a gun held to my fiancé’s head and I had no choice.”

“That’s savage,” Yuffie says, too chipper for Charlie’s liking.

She scowls. “Who the hell is this kid, anyway?” Charlie snaps, looking past Aerith to look Yuffie dead in the eyes. “And what do you even know about _anything?_ What are you even supposed to be, dressed up like that?”

“I’m a ninja,” Yuffie snaps right back, “ _obviously._ ” She holds up her shuriken as if that proves her point.

Charlie purses her lips, nostrils flared and heart pumping as she tries to calm herself down. The subject of her father is still a touchy one. “Let’s just go,” she finally says, desperate for a real bad to sprawl out on. “The Gold Saucer is close now, and I need to make a phone call and take a hot shower.”

Barret hustles after her as Charlie follows the pathway. A broken sign for the Gold Saucer points them in the proper direction, not like there’s much room for them to get lost. 

“A phone call, huh?” Barret asks roughly, keeping pace with her. She has to admit it feels good making him run after _her_ this time. “So you can tell your asshole brother where we are and what we’ve been doin’, I’m sure.”

“If you want me out of your hair, then I’m going to need to make a phone call. I really don’t give a damn if you chase Sephiroth, and nor does my brother. It’s a death sentence, if you ask me, especially for a couple of vigilantes.”

Barret grits his teeth, looking ahead of him. He doesn’t move away from Charlie’s side, a healthy bit of distance between them. She can hear the soft patter of Red’s steps just behind them, and the shifting of the Buster Sword upon Cloud’s back. She doesn’t know when she’ll build up the courage to ask about it. 

“Who did that shit to your face?” he asks after another minute or so of silence.

The bruising is hidden beneath the dried mud on her skin, but the bruises have turned yellow over the days since she’s been away from Costa del Sol, and it’s obvious that something has happened to her, but Charlie doesn’t feel right admitting to Barret that Rufus had been the one to beat her. 

So she ignores him, staring straight ahead. Confessing to Rufus’s actions will only make Shinra look worse in Barret’s eyes.

“Why’d you help Avalanche, anyway?” he asks again. “What was in it for you? You wanted your old man’s seat or what?”

Charlie pauses. She can’t remain silent forever, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to tell the entire truth. “The reactors are killing the planet. I was able to build a bomb. I suppose it made sense to Pia to ask me for help.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, Shinra.”

“You can call me Vice President Shinra—”

“Like hell I will.”

Charlie and Barret look at each other for a long time, tired eyes staring into tired eyes. “I’m not blind to who and what my father was,” she says, “and I’d like to leave it at that.” 

“Ain’t you the oldest, anyway?” Barret doesn’t seem to ever know when to stop. It always takes someone else to stop him from going on, but no one is stepping in this time. “Shouldn’t you be president now that the old man is dead?”

He speaks so callously of her father’s death. Charlie knows that her father is hated, even in death, but hearing it thrown in her face like this is still hurtful. Besides, Barret’s question has her thinking about something else—about someone else. 

_Lazard is the oldest,_ she can’t help but think, _but he’s dead now, and there might be more half-siblings I don’t even know about._

Charlie inhales deeply. “It’s my understanding that my father thought I . . . lacked certain qualities that would make a good president.” She’s quiet for another moment, looking down at her aching feet, moving of their own free will towards the tram station. “I was never going to be president. I always knew that. I never even thought I would be vice president.”

Just as her eyes begin to burn with budding tears, Barret speaks again, and it distracts her enough to force them back. “You ever seen Corel when it was in its prime?”

The question is not accusatory, and it’s that fact that throws her off. Charlie glances sideways at him. “No,” she replies. 

He grunts, but it sounds more like a soft laugh than anything. This is the longest conversation they’ve had. “It wasn’t the metropolis that Midgar is, and it wasn’t the sunny shithole that Costa del Sol is,” he says, looking up at the sky and sighing.

She’s acutely aware of everyone listening quietly behind them. She can feel their eyes on the back of her neck. It makes her uncomfortable.

“It was a coal mining town,” he continues, and Charlie finds herself hanging on every word. Whatever he’s going to say is going to be terrible, she just knows it, otherwise he wouldn’t be telling it to a _Shinra._ “It was a small town, a friendly community where everybody knew everybody. Poor, quiet . . . my hometown.”

Charlie watches him. He looks straight ahead, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. 

“Some Shinra big-shot came to talk to us ‘bout settin’ up a mako reactor to replace the coal. Made a pretty convincing argument, too, good enough to convince us all. All of us but Dyne.” Barret sighs again. Charlie knows that sound—he’s thinking about someone he’s lost, someone he’s loved. She’s afraid to hear more. “Dyne came from a long line of coal miners. It was all he knew, and he didn’t want a mako reactor to take that away from him. But nobody was usin’ coal anymore, and my wife was . . .” 

Charlie has the grace to look away as his face softens. She glances over her shoulder to find that Aerith and Tifa and Yuffie are hot on Barret’s heels, listening very closely. Cloud looks down at the ground, but he’s certainly listening, and Red steals glances every now and then up at Barret. 

“I convinced Dyne that mako would make things easier for us all. I didn’t want my wife to suffer anymore,” Barret tells them, keeping his voice low. The tram station is visible in the distance now, close enough to bring Charlie a wave of relief. “So we were hired to construct a mako reactor and we were glad to change with the times. And then . . . Dyne and I went outta town for a few days . . .”

Charlie grips the strap of her backpack with her shaking right hand. 

“Corel was in flames, burned to the ground by Shinra troops when we came back,” he says weakly, his voice flooded with sudden emotion. “They didn’t even evacuate no one . . . they burned ‘em all . . . my family, my friends . . .”

Her eyes start to burn again.

“There was an explosion all right. It was just an accident. No one from Corel did anything to that reactor.” Barret shakes his head. “That reactor was our lives . . . our livelihoods . . . no one would have done that to the one thing we had going for our little town since coal went out . . .”

“That’s terrible,” Tifa sighs, wrapping her arms around herself and slowing her pace. 

“S’all my fault,” Barret admits, but Charlie doesn’t think that’s true in the slightest. “I never should have gone through with it. I never should have trusted Shinra.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Tifa insists, to hums of agreement from her friends. “Shinra fooled us all back then.”

“I was a damn fool. They took advantage of me and my wife . . . Myrna . . . she died in the fire, sick and alone. And Dyne, my best friend . . . all because of Shinra. Because of . . . me.”

“Barret, I’m so sorry,” Charlie says, unable to find the proper words that will bring him comfort. “Can I ask you a question? And I’m so sorry to ask.”

“What?” There’s a little bite back in his voice now, which seems a good sign to her. 

“I’m so sorry, Barret. Do you remember who it was that came to talk to you about the reactor?”

Barret stares at her like she has three heads. It probably seems a very odd question to ask after such a vulnerable confession, but she has to know, she _needs_ to know that Reeve hadn’t known about this, that Reeve had nothing to do with—

“It was a woman,” he answers flatly. “With blonde hair and the worst laugh I ever heard.” 

Without giving her a chance to follow up that statement with another one, Barret rushes ahead as they reach the station. The conductor calls for everyone to board, but Charlie and her companions hang back and allow Barret some space before moving again.

“I had no idea,” Charlie confesses, turning to face the others. “I had _no_ idea.”

“Neither did I,” Tifa frowns. “He never said anything.”

“I think he should have known better!” Yuffie _humphs_ loudly and stamps her foot down on the hard-packed earth. “He should have known that _nothing_ good comes from associating with _Shinra,_ and I think that’s a lesson—” She looks very pointedly at Charlie—“we should all remember!”

She runs ahead after Barret. 

“We should all get a move on, then. It’ll be good to enjoy ourselves for a little bit.” Aerith urges them to keep moving, and when Charlie enters the tram—empty, save for the six of them—it’s with a very heavy heart. 

* * *

“Mother, I don’t know what to tell you. Charlie’s away on business, and she won’t be home for a little while—”

“ _I don’t know what the president was thinking, sending her away when you’re to be married so soon_ —”

“Please don’t talk like that, Mother. Whatever the president was thinking, I’m sure he had good reason to send her on assignment,” he lies, too much of a coward to tell his own mother that Charlie had left him. 

“ _Well, tell her I look forward to seeing her again. She hasn’t been answering her phone. I left her a voicemail the other day_ —”

“She’s been having problems with her phone. We’re going to get her a new one when she comes back.”

“ _No phone!_ ” his mother scoffs. Reeve rubs the bridge of his nose, knowing he’s just digging his own grave the more he lies. “ _How are you even talking to that girl, then? I hope nothing is going on between the two of you, Reeve. She’s such a sweet girl, and it would be a good thing to be married to the vice president_ —”

Reeve groans into his hand. “Mother, please—”

“ _Too old for a scolding now, are you?_ ” He can hear his mother sighing on the other line. “ _Oh, sweetheart, I need your help. The boy needs clothes and_ —”

“Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll send some money when I finish here. Buy whatever you need.”

As the doorknob to his office turns abruptly, without so much as a warning knock, Reeve quickly reaches over to the monitor that displays the colorful scenery of the Gold Saucer to close out of it. It’s much easier to watch through a screen than to have his brain feel fried by doing it himself. When did he ever ask for this gift again? 

“Listen, Mom, I have to go. I’m very busy right now. I’ll tell Charlie you said hello.” He hangs up before his mother has the chance to say good-bye, and he feels sorry about it, but his assistant is already walking up to his desk. He sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you knocked next time.”

“S—sorry, Director,” she stammers, clutching a thick stack of envelopes to her chest. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just that—well . . .” She frowns, holding out the bound stack of mail. “The vice president’s mail is starting to pile up, and no one’s really sure what to do with it, so I thought I’d ask you.”

“Oh,” he utters, looking at the top envelope for a long time. “Sorry. Yes, you can leave them with me. I’ll take care of it, thank you.” 

Nothing in the stack of mail is urgent, and there are a few pieces that look suspiciously like fanmail, one of them with childish writing on the front. The return address is from the Leaf House, and his curiosity gets the better of him once again, slitting open the envelope and pulling out the letter within.

_Dear Charlie:_

_It’s me, Leila! I’m turning seven this weekend, and I asked Ms. Folia if you could come visit for my birthday. She promised that she would deliver my letter if I wanted to write to you and ask. Megga said she thinks you’ll bring me a present. I hope so! I really like flying the planes around that you bring. I want to be just like you when I grow up!_

_Love, Leila_

Reeve’s heart aches. He sighs heavily and puts the letter away, promising himself he won’t go through any more of Charlie’s things. It only leads to heartache and doubt. When will he ever learn his lesson?

They’ve been apart before. They’ve been apart for much, _much_ longer. But he had always known they would be together again after a little time.

It’s the not knowing that breaks him now. He isn’t sure if he’ll _ever_ see Charlie again, and if he does, he doesn’t know when that day will come. 

Pulling up the footage of the Gold Saucer again, Reeve feels the familiar feeling of anxiety gnawing away at his insides. There is no guarantee that Charlie and her merry band of terrorists will make their way to the Gold Saucer in the first place, but Rufus couldn’t be convinced otherwise, and his steadfast belief that he knows his sister best could not be swayed even if Reeve tried. 

The last he had heard, Avalanche was making their way west, just like the Turks, but moving much slower on foot. Reeve can’t really imagine Charlie scaling Mount Corel without complaining, and he can’t imagine she’s doing well “roughing it” with a group of people who probably despise her. 

How had it gotten to this point? How had Charlie become so thoroughly convinced that running away was her only option? Had she felt so trapped the entire time? How long had she been plotting an escape? Was her disappearance due to a deep-seated unhappiness with him, or was it more to do with Shinra, her brother, or their father’s company?

Of course there had been fleeting moments that suggested she might be a little more unhappy than she tended to let on, but she never elaborated or explained, always laughing these comments off as jokes, suddenly defensive when Reeve would prompt her to continue. 

It’s petty, but it’s not fair. He had done everything for her, had cared for her when she needed it, had loved her when she allowed him to, had watched her cycle through other men—funnier men, stronger men, younger men, _better_ men—before running to him with a broken heart. 

He watches the scene play out through Cait’s eyes, his elbow resting upon the desk, his knuckles propping his chin up. 

He still worries, of course. Rufus had promised Charlie would be safe once the Turks brought her home, but Reeve doesn’t know that he believes it. He can’t believe that Charlie would escape any punishment for the mess she’s caused, the mess that she left behind for Reeve to clean up, just like her father did. 

But he _is_ curious, despite the small voice at the back of his head that urges him not to do any more than he positively has to. 

Rufus gave him a job: collect information on what Avalanche is up to, call in their location, have Charlie brought back to Midgar, and have Avalanche stopped from getting in Shinra—in the _Turks_ ’—way. 

But the question begging to be asked is, how long will Reeve be able to keep up the charade? To observe Charlie without telling her his true identity will surely be much more difficult than Rufus believes. 

Is it possible to earn her trust through a robot? To find out what exactly she’s up to? She’s never been an open book, and Reeve thinks it highly unlikely that he’ll get _any_ information out of her this way. 

And what is he supposed to do when Charlie is back in Midgar? Is he supposed to just forgive her? Is he supposed to forget about it and let everything go back to normal like her brother promised?

No, he thinks. The first thing he’s going to do when she returns is sit her down and tell her everything. He doesn’t want any secrets between them anymore, and if she chooses to run away at the hearing of his darkest secrets, then at least he did the noble thing, the honorable thing, by telling her the truth. 

And if she doesn’t run . . . then he’ll want the same. He wants to know everything, to hear everything she’s been too afraid to confess to for years. 

He’s put too much time and effort into their relationship to back out now. 

And he loves her—loves the way she’ll drop everything just to flash him a smile, loves the way she looks when she steps out of the shower to show him the purest form of herself, loves the way she’s not at all embarrassed to be seen touching and kissing and looking at him in public. 

Years of mutual adoration and established trust and a gentle kind of love that took a long time for the both of them to get used to . . .

Is he going to just give all that up? Taking her back would only make him look spineless (he knows the other directors already think of him as such), but having her back without question would be a blow to his pride that would be _worth_ taking. 

He’ll never have another Charlie. He’ll never have anything _close_ to another Charlie. 

Even at sixteen, she had been an unusually beautiful girl who had made his mouth go dry and his palms all sweaty. At _sixteen_ , she held more power over his twenty-five-year-old self than she could ever imagine. 

Reeve remembers sleepless night after sleepless night, beating himself up for forming a shallow attraction to the young and innocent daughter of President Shinra, reminding himself that she was a spoiled, misogynistic, sarcastic little brat. She was too young, too wide-eyed, too damaged. 

But _damn it_ she knew how to stroke his ego, how to flatter him to the point of blushing, knew exactly the right things to say to make him squirm. He hadn’t realized how touch starved he was until the back of her hand accidentally brushed against his own once, hadn’t realized how lonely he was until she started hanging around him all the time. She was funny and witty, and brought joy to his life, joy that he hasn’t even realized he had been missing. 

And when she had kissed him all those years ago, a few days after her failed rocket launch, he had willingly allowed himself to be consumed by her.

 _Rookie mistake,_ he thinks to himself. _Letting yourself be consumed by President Shinra’s daughter._

There was a reason only the bravest men stepped forward to openly show interest in Charlie. Reeve should have realized that from the start. Every kiss only served to drag him further and further into the lion’s den that is the Shinra family ( _was_ the Shinra family—now a broken family that seems to be collapsing under the weight of their father’s murder).

He had considered, of course, going to the Gold Saucer himself, but the Shinra-owned building likely has ears and eyes everywhere, and there’s no guarantee that Charlie would want to return with him. 

And if Rufus found out he had tried to intercept Charlie before he gathered any information . . .

Besides, he’s curious— _always_ curious—and even if it hurts him, Reeve wants to know what she’s up to, as well. 

He deserves that much, doesn’t he? Hasn’t Charlie lied enough? She can’t really be angry with him for a little recon mission, can she? And who’s to say she’ll ever have to know? He can earn her trust again—he’s done it before, so why wouldn’t he be able to do it again?

Besides, Charlie’s too smart to lead them straight to the Gold Saucer. There’s no possible way that she would go there if she didn’t want to be found. It’s ridiculous, almost stupid, and—

_Shit._

There she is, standing in front of Cait Sith, looking into his eyes, looking through the monitor into _Reeve’s_ eyes, no makeup on, her hair wet and brushed and her forehead a little sunburnt, wearing clothes that look a little stiff. 

“Let me do the talking,” he says to no one in particular, unsure of why he’s said it out loud. 

But his mouth is so dry, and the sight of her left ring finger looking so bare makes his heart catch in his throat, and she’s looking expectantly at him—no, at Cait—and it takes him too long to speak, long enough that Cait Sith takes it upon himself, in a voice with a slightly foreign lilt, to ask her:

“G’afternoon, Miss Shinra! Would you like your fortune read?”


	35. Chapter 35

“Here, stand back. I’ll handle this.”

Charlie steps up to the woman at the gate of the Gold Saucer, her legs feeling very shaky the closer she gets to a bed. She knows that she probably is very hardly recognizable with mud on her face and her clothes covered in dirt and sweat. 

Muffled music blares from the inside of the amusement park, music that Charlie is most familiar with. She wonders if it’s wise to watch a few chocobo races (without betting, of course, as withdrawing any money would be a dead giveaway to her location) before turning in for the night. 

Perhaps she could catch a play. She hasn’t been to the theater in what feels like a long time. It wouldn’t feel right to go without Reeve, however. She misses holding his hand in the dark, resting her cheek against his shoulder as they watch _LOVELESS_ without ever tiring of it. 

But doesn’t she deserve to have a little bit of fun?

The woman at the entrance blinks a few times, her narrowed eyes roving over Charlie’s face until they widen in comprehension. “Oh, Madam Vice President!” she gasps, looking very pleased when Charlie manages to smile weakly at her. “I’m so sorry! We weren’t expecting you today! Forgive me for . . . er . . . not recognizing you right away. Will you be requiring access to the upper floors?”

“No, I’m not here for pleasure today,” Charlie explains, turning to gesture slightly at her travel companions. “My friends and I are currently on assignment, and need a place to rest for a few hours.”

“Of course! Any friends of the vice president are more than welcome at the Gold Saucer!” the woman continues brightly, smiling wider at them all. “I’ll call ahead to make sure some rooms are closed off for you all.”

“Thank you,” Charlie replies sweetly, lowering her voice. “And, if you don’t mind . . . we really shouldn’t even be here, but we just couldn’t find an inn quick enough. We would appreciate it if our presence here was kept quiet for the time being. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course, ma’am.” 

“Excellent. And what was your name?”

The woman seems slightly more hesitant to give her name. There’s a name (Ophelia) written in loopy handwriting on a nametag that rests above her left breast, but Charlie waits for her to give her last name. 

“Thank you. Now I know you just as well as you know me,” Charlie says, tapping the tip of her index finger against the nametag. 

The greeter seems to understand quickly, her face falling, even as she calls to them, “Enjoy your time at the Gold Saucer!”

“What’s on the upper floors?” Yuffie asks, the moment they’re out of earshot of the receptionist. 

“Oh, that’s where we Shinra execs have our orgies. It’s a big thing, you know. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Yuffie scrunches her nose in disgust, but Charlie is able to coerce a small laugh out of her.

The lobby of the Gold Saucer is a colorful thing, surrounded with entrances to different sections of the park—some of the entrances lead to slides that take guests to lower floors, while some entrances are narrow stairs that lead upwards. 

Charlie’s never had the pleasure of taking the stairs or a slide. She wouldn’t be caught dead jumping down a slide to get from one place to another. Being a Shinra certainly has its perks, and a private elevator to take her wherever she wishes inside the Gold Saucer is certainly one of those perks. 

No one in her group has ever been to the Gold Saucer, and Charlie shows Aerith a map of all the different areas they can get to. Part of her hopes that Aerith might choose to stick around so the two of them can do something _together_ , but it’s a far-fetched idea, and rather pathetic to be dreaming about having a temporary friend. 

“Why don’t we all have some fun?” Aerith asks them all, touching her index finger to the map where it says Speed Square. “We could use a break, couldn’t we?”

Charlie clears her throat, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Aerith, who takes a step back and looks at Barret with a frown. 

“I know this isn’t the right time to do this,” she sighs, walking slowly towards Barret, the only one who isn’t looking around in wonder. “But we’re here, and we might never get this chance again. Cheer up, Barret, I’m sure there’s something here that you’ll enjoy!”

“I ain’t in a cheery mood,” Barret snaps at her, putting a hand on his hip and turning his back on Aerith. “Just leave me alone.”

“That’s too bad.” With a smile on her face once more, Aerith runs to Cloud and gives his hand a small tug. “Let’s go! I want to look around!”

_There goes my only chance at a friend,_ Charlie thinks bitterly, turning back towards the map in the hopes of looking too busy to be spoken to. 

The first thing she’s going to do is take a long and scalding hot shower (or the longest and hottest bath of her life) and change into some clean clothes (she could buy a new outfit from the gift shop that isn’t soaked with sweat). Sleep can wait until she makes her phone call. 

She needs to know what really happened at Corel, and she knows that Tseng will have that information, or will have a way of finding out that information for her. 

Barret’s sudden shouting pulls her forcefully and reluctantly out of her reverie. Charlie turns quickly on her heels, wide-eyed and watching him explode on Aerith, who remains perfectly calm with her hands held behind her back. 

“Then go play! Damn!” he growls, throwing his arms up in the air and looking ready to explode. “I thought we were after Sephiroth, but if y’all wanna go _mess around,_ then go ahead!” And with that, Barret takes his quick leave of them, leaping clumsily into the entrance that will lead him to the Wonder Square. 

“Well . . .” Charlie says after a silence that stretches far beyond her comfort point. “You’re all here as my guests, so don’t worry about paying for anything. The rooms are going to be in the hotel at the Ghost Square. Tell them you’re with the vice president. It can all go on my tab. Rufus will pay it off sooner or later, so take advantage of Shinra while you can.”

“Let’s just have a little fun, Cloud,” Aerith says playfully, looking around at the lobby in awe. It must be overwhelming for a slum girl that’s never even seen the sky. “Please!”

Cloud sighs, looking around and crossing his arms over his chest. “Okay, but we need to be careful,” he tells them all, his gaze lingering on Charlie a bit longer than the others. “Sephiroth could be anywhere.”

It’s not long after that that Charlie is left behind, _again._ Aerith urges Cloud towards the Wonder Square, Red XIII takes Charlie’s advice to rest at the Ghost Square, and right before Charlie can ask Tifa if she’d like to do something, Yuffie drags the last possible friend Charlie may have towards the Battle Square. 

Charlie inhales and exhales loudly, frustratedly, looking absent-mindedly at the map again and muttering to herself. “‘Thanks, Charlie!’” she hisses, hoping no one is listening to her talking to herself. “‘That was a _really_ cool thing you did for us! Thanks for paying for _everything!_ ’”

She’s still grumbling to herself when she approaches the hotel in the Ghost Square. It’s a very ominous and foreboding picture upon first spotting the seemingly derelict building from the outside, sitting atop a very uneven hill with stone steps leading right to the front door.

The first problem she encounters upon entering is the “undead” butler arguing (very out of character) with Red XIII about rooms closed off the vice president and her party. Charlotte sighs when she overhears the argument.

“As if the vice president herself would be traveling with such feral and peculiar company! It would be an insult to her very person to take you at your word and bring you up to the vice president’s own private room!” 

At these words, Charlie immediately steps up to Red’s side.

“He’s with me, and I’ll see to it that you don’t set foot back in the Gold Saucer if you continue carrying on the way you are,” she assures the butler, who immediately clears his throat, sinks back into character, and apologizes under his breath before the desk clerk gives them the keys to their respective rooms. 

“Thank you,” Red tells her as they climb the grand staircase that will lead to their block of rooms. 

Though his thanks is sincere, Charlie doesn’t derive as much pleasure from it as she thought she might. “Don’t worry about it. Shinra owns the Gold Saucer. The employees have a bit of a . . . romanticized version of myself in mind, I think. I’m not . . . I’m not like that. I don’t agree with what he said about you.” 

He doesn’t speak again until he reaches his own room, and Charlie helps him insert the key into the lock, recognizing his struggle to ask her for help. She understands how difficult it can be to ask others for help at all, especially when one’s pride is very important to them.

“It’s not much,” she tells him apologetically, looking around at the room Red’s been given. There are three small beds against the wall, staggered a few feet apart, and the interior design is something out of a six-year-old’s nightmare, complete with spooky sound effects and malicious laughter that seems to come from the very walls themselves. “But the beds are more comfortable than the ground, and it’ll be a lot warmer than inside a tent.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Red replies, taking a few steps inside and gazing around at the decorations, looking cautiously at the iron maiden in the corner. “If not a little ominous.”

“A little,” Charlie says breathlessly, giving him a soft little laugh. She leans against the threshold of the doorway, wondering if he’s silently pleading for her to leave. Sometimes it seems like everyone else is always waiting for her to shut up when she says something. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“That depends on the question.”

Charlie knows what he’s thinking. “It’s not like that. I’m just curious as to why you’re here. I mean, why are you following Sephiroth with them? Do you have some sort of vendetta, or merely a death wish?”

“I’m not going with them on the hunt for Sephiroth,” Red answers firmly, jumping up onto one of the beds and immediately lying down, his tail flicking slowly back and forth, the small flame at the tip making her nervous. “I needed a way out of Midgar, and they agreed to bring me back home, where I intend to remain.”

“Where’s your hometown?” she asks again.

Red eyes her warily for a moment, but does answer in the end. “Cosmo Canyon. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she answers, brightening immediately. “I’ve never been there before, but I’d love to visit. I heard there’s an observatory that can see the heavens. I bet the night sky is lovely out there, away from the reactors.”

“You’re interested in the study of the planet?”

She hums, shrugging her shoulders. “Not the planet, really,” she explains. “I’ve always loved studying the stars and space. I actually studied to be an aeronautical engineer, did you know?” 

When Red XIII continues to look surprised (or as surprised as an animal of his kind can look), she laughs almost humorlessly, if only to keep up the appearance of her joy. 

“My mother loved it. She taught me everything she knew. If it weren’t for her, I don’t think I ever would have been Head of the Space Exploration Department.”

Another silence. Red licks his lips. The noise is distracting. “ _You_ were the Head of the Space Exploration Department at Shinra?”

“Yes, almost five years ago now.”

“What about your mother?”

The words spill out of her. It’s like once she spoke to Aerith about something she had buried for so long, everything else wants out now, as well. 

“She left when I was little, and I don’t really know what happened to her. Actually—” Charlie kneels down with her backpack, fishing around for the picture she brought with her—“I’ve got a picture. I found it the night my father died. Do you want to see?”

She doesn’t know why Red would ever want to see an old family photo of the Shinras, but he clambers off the bed and makes his way over to her, looking down at the photograph. The picture brings her a strange form of pride and strength, the knowledge that she _had_ had a happy and loving nuclear family, even just for a little bit. 

It makes her glad that Red is so willing to look. 

“That’s your mother?” he inquires, pointing at the picture with his wet nose.

“I know, I don’t look anything like her. Rufus and I both look like our father.”

“No, I mean . . .” Red XIII sighs. His breath smells just like Dark Nation’s after a long nap. “I know that woman.”

Charlie falters, looking into his eyes and trying to determine whether or not he’s lying. “What?” She points to her mother in the photograph. “This woman? You know this woman right here?”

“Eleanor,” Red replies, and it knocks the wind out of her to hear her mother’s name spoken so casually for the first time in nearly twenty years. “She came to Cosmo Canyon just shy of twenty years ago, and became one of the most respected planetologists in the village. I had no idea that she was the president’s wife.”

_Could it be true?_

What are the chances that her mother is still alive? What are the chances that her mother is still alive in Cosmo Canyon? What are the chances that Red XIII is mixing up her mother with some other woman who simply looks like her? 

He had been able to pick her out immediately from the photograph, knew her first name, and the timeline certainly fits . . . she wouldn’t have gone to Cosmo Canyon straightaway, of course. She would have needed time to get there, time to build up a reputation . . . 

Her heart is beating so fast. Why is it beating so fast? Why can’t she breathe? Why is this happening again? Why can’t she breathe breathe _breathe_ , Charlotte. 

Charlie takes a deep breath, but her hands continue to shake.

“She used to tell grandfather about her children, a daughter and a son in Midgar with their father,” Red continues, and Charlie wishes he would stop. She doesn’t want to hear anymore, but it may be her only chance to know the truth. 

“Is she still there? Is she still at Cosmo Canyon?” Charlie asks quickly, wondering if Tseng would bring her there before returning to Midgar, wondering if _Rufus_ would bring her there so they could see their mother together. 

“She was when I was captured, about a year ago,” he says slowly, and there’s something apologetic in his gaze before he goes on. “But she was sick, and had been for some time.”

“Sick? With what? Is she all right? Will she get better?”

“I’m no doctor—”

“Please, tell me. I have to know. It’s okay. Just tell me, Red. I promise I won’t be upset.”

Red hesitates. “Her brain was slowly deteriorating. In the days preceding my capture, your mother was no longer herself, hardly able to recognize her friends and colleagues, unable to speak.”

“But they can fix that, can’t they?” she asks, already knowing the answer. It’s hard looking into his face, unable to show any sorrow in his expression, if he feels sorry at all. “They can heal her, right?”

“She was made very comfortable, and was given the highest degree of care.”

_She’s dying. He’s just too polite to say it outright,_ Charlie thinks. _Even if I were to go back, she wouldn’t even know me. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe she wouldn’t want me to see her like that._

“Okay.” Charlie laughs nervously to hide her budding tears, standing up and stumbling backwards as she struggles to put her photograph back in her backpack. “Well, thank you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

* * *

She’s never felt worse in her life—physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

Physically, she’s covered in scrapes and bruises that she can’t recall getting, her hands and fingers and feet are blistered and raw from climbing up and down Mount Corel, her shoulders ache from carrying around her backpack for hours on end, and she probably stinks very badly, not having showered or bathed in a few days. 

Emotionally and mentally, she’s far worse off. Scrapes and blisters will heal, and a hot bath will soothe the aching tension in her body, and she can bandage up her hands if need be. 

Perhaps she would be a little better off if everything hadn’t happened so quickly. Staring at herself, completely naked, in the bathroom mirror, Charlie tries to remember in what order everything had happened. 

There had been the bombing of mako reactor one. She remembers the heat of the flames, the way sweat and blood and soot had mingled together on her face to make a gruesome sort of mask, the shell-shocked way Reeve had looked at her before forcing her into the truck with Reno and Tseng, the way Rufus had stolen a kiss from her that night with Tseng right there, offering her comfort the best (and only) way he knew how. 

And after that, her father had beaten her for the first time in years, while two of the men she trusted most in the world stood right outside the office doors, able to hear everything coming from within and doing nothing to stop it. 

Then mako reactor five had blown, at Shinra’s own hands, and not only had Charlie glimpsed a piece of Angeal for the first time in years that night, bringing back unwanted memories and an ache for the closure she never really received, but her father had held Reeve hostage, using him as leverage against his own daughter. He had been so brave even with a gun held to his head and his hands cuffed behind his back, her sweet, sweet hero.

The plate had dropped after that. Her father had been content to drop the plate on his own daughter, the daughter he claimed to care about so much in his letters. All of those people had died for _nothing_ , all because of a small handful of extremists who . . . don’t really seem to be terrible people. 

Her father hadn’t had to carry that weight for long, however. Sephiroth had relieved him of whatever guilt President Shinra might have felt for his actions, and Charlie still hates herself for feeling so sentimental about the death of her father, hating the way she had crawled to him and cried for him to wake up. 

She had become the vice president overnight after never believing she would ever hold the position, and she had confessed her dirty little secret to Reeve, only to watch the back of him as he walked out of their apartment. 

Tseng had given her closure in regards to Angeal, which didn’t make things any better, and Hojo had only poured salt into the wound. 

Rufus had given her a beating to rival her father, she had found out about a supposed half-brother, Red XIII apparently knows her dying mother. 

“Relax,” she tells herself, putting on a ‘vice president face’ that even Rufus would be proud of. “We’re fine.” 

Charlie nods at her reflection, giving herself an arrogant and reassuring smile. It’s so easy to smile. She’s been doing it for so long. 

“We’re great.” 

Who’s ‘we’? 

“We’re okay.” 

_Am I going crazy?_

Charlie smiles wider, like there’s a camera right in front of her face. Has her smile always looked like this? So practiced? So forced? Has she always looked so sad? Has anyone ever noticed? Hasn’t anyone ever looked at her and seen anything other than an empty shell behind a false smile?

“I’m fine,” she says again, her smile fading. 

She misses her brother. She misses when they were young and inseparable. He was her hero. He was just like the princes in all the books Veld used to read, and she was just like all the princesses, always fair-skinned and blonde and beautiful and waiting for someone to rescue them.

_I don’t need to be rescued. I can do this on my own._

“I’m fine.”

_Do what on your own? Run away from the truth like a coward?_

“I’m fine.”

* * *

“Would you like to place a bet, Madam Vice President? The S-Rank chocobos are getting ready to race the long course.”

“Not today,” Charlie says, smiling weakly at the receptionist. “I thought I’d just watch a few races today.”

The Chocobo Square is bright and flashy (just as any other day or any other part of the Gold Saucer), with several television screens around them displaying current records and stats of the chocobos about to race. A few people place hefty bets with the woman behind the ticket counter.

The room is relatively full enough for Charlie to go unnoticed, able to have her back turned to the crowd of people buying drinks at the small bar tucked into the corner of the room, and huddled in a corner as she waits for the race to start. 

It’s not really fun without placing bets. It’s not fun watching the chocobos race without having Rufus here to compete against. He’s so incredibly competitive that Charlie doesn’t even mind when her chocobo loses—it’s enough for her to see Rufus smile and get excited over something and kiss her cheek in celebration with an arm snaked around her waist. 

Gods, she misses him, even though she knows she shouldn’t. 

She doesn’t make it halfway through the long race before she’s wandering back out of the Chocobo Square, wondering if it’s late enough to call it a night. Without being able to see the sky from the Gold Saucer, it could be three in the morning and she wouldn’t know it, but her watch reads 4:48pm, and that’s a little early to consider locking herself in her hotel room until morning.

Besides, she still needs to make a phone call. 

She’s put it on hold, afraid that a single call from the Gold Saucer will mean Turks banging on her door at night, and Turks banging on her door at night means she won’t be able to go to Cosmo Canyon to see if her mother is still alive and waiting for her. 

Charlie still doesn’t believe it. After all, Red had been held captive in Professor Hojo’s lab for close to a year, according to him, and who knows what kind of experiments were done to him? 

Perhaps some of the experiments twisted his mind, made him remember things that he didn’t really remember . . . maybe Red just _thought_ someone in Cosmo Canyon looked like her mother.

But he had known her name: Eleanor. 

It sends a chill down Charlie’s spine. Maybe it’s not too early to turn in. Besides, she’s been on the move for days, sleeping on hard earth and shivering through the nights.

It might be best to hide herself away. Who knows what kinds of people may be hiding in plain sight among the guests? What if Cloud had been right, and Sephiroth was here? What if Rufus had sent someone here to spy, to see if Charlie and her companions decided to rest here?

Yes, she decides, it’s definitely best if she hides away. It’s not safe to be showing her face around such a public place when all she wants to do is be invisible, if only for a few—

“Miss Shinra!”

Charlie looks up as she just exits the Chocobo Square, prepared to walk down the grand stairs that will lead her back to the passage towards the Ghost Square. 

The voice that calls for her is completely unfamiliar, and when she glances at the people still making their way back into the lounge, waiting for the next race to begin, none of them seem to offer her a passing glance. 

But she does see something incredibly out of place, and it’s waving her down very conspicuously. 

Out of total curiosity and boredom, Charlie approaches the white thing that knows her name, only to find that it’s not a “white thing” after all, but an over-sized, plush moogle, carrying on its shoulders a black-and-white anthropomorphic cat, complete with a miniature megaphone, a glittering golden crown, and a small red cape tied around its tiny neck. 

There are plenty of things at the Gold Saucer that are out of place and unordinary, but none of them have startled or surprised her as much as this unlikely pair. She expects the moogle to be the one to speak, despite its stitched mouth and blank eyes, moving its arms in sync with the cat, who opens his mouth wide and asks:

“G’afternoon, Miss Shinra! Would you like your fortune read?”

Charlie falters, staring into the face of a cat that, upon closer inspection, doesn’t look so lifelike, after all. Its eyes are just barely opened, not wide enough for her to get a good look into them, and its fur is stiff and matted in places, but she doesn’t dare reach out to touch it. 

Even its movements are slightly jerky, not at all the agile and graceful movements she associates with cats. It’s cute, she supposes, but a little unsettling at the same time.

What’s even stranger is the voice in which it speaks—there’s a slight accent to it that she can’t quite place, though his (she’s assuming it’s a _he_ ) tone is playful and kind enough. 

“You know who I am?” Charlie asks, tucking some of her still-damp hair behind her ear. 

“As if I wouldn’t recognize the loveliest face on the planet,” the cat says, holding his hands together as if in prayer, and it makes her smile weakly. She has to look down into his face, but at least he’s on the back of a moogle—without it, the cat may only be about three feet tall while standing on his two hind legs. “What’dya say, then? One fortune, on the house, from yours truly.”

“You’re a fortune teller, then?”

“Best in the Gold Saucer, my lovely VP. Wanna see for yourself?”

Charlie pauses, unable to look at the cat long enough. It’s weird. Delightfully so. “Okay,” she agrees, shrugging her shoulders. “Sure.”

“Here we go, here we go!” The moogle takes a step (a hop) backwards, waves its arm a few times, produces a fortune from the back of its head, which is passed from the cat’s white-gloved hands to her own. 

She looks down at it. “‘All of your troubles will soon pass. Your lucky number is four.’” Charlie folds the small slip of paper up and clears her throat, suddenly eager to be back in her room. “This is a joke, right?”

“Well, I didn’t promise that it would be an accurate one—” The moogle hops to block her passage, just as she makes to turn away and return back to the Ghost Square—“but maybe it means you’ve got something to look forward to! I could always do another one, a second chance, just to be sure. Free of charge, of course!”

Charlie pockets the fortune. “I think you’ve done enough, thank you,” she replies stiffly, pushing past the moogle.

“W—wait!”

She can still hear the cat calling after her when she leaves the Chocobo Square.

* * *

“Don’t know what you expected me to do,” comes Cait Sith’s filtered voice through the monitor as the moogle wanders into the Wonder Square a few minutes after Charlie has taken her leave. “You choked.”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t _choke_.” Reeve grits his teeth, scoffing and flushing in the middle of an empty room. “And I don’t remember building you to mock me. I get enough of that here, thank you. And you went a little overboard with the compliments, don’t you think?”

“Then do it yourself next time.”

Reeve growls at the computer screen. He must look a complete fool, arguing with a creation of his own that seems to take joy in teasing him. When had _that_ happened?

Gods, but it had been sweet to see her, to see that she’s alive and well, to hear her speak, even if it had been cold and unsure. What he wouldn’t have given to reach out and touch her, to be there himself so he could kiss her and be kissed and apologize for every little thing he’s ever done to her in his entire life. 

He wishes he could at least _call_ her. Maybe he could have Cait Sith give her a burner phone, just so he can contact her, but that would mean revealing his identity, and if Charlie knew that he was spying on her, she would probably throw the phone off the side of a mountain. 

He can’t even blame her for any anger she might feel towards him. 

Reeve has backed himself into a corner, and he knows it. He’s dug his own grave, made his own bed of nails . . . why hadn’t he just told her years ago, when they first met each other, about Cait Sith? 

Sixteen-year-old Charlie likely would have been thrilled to see the prototype, he's certain, but some small part of him has always feared that she might get the wrong idea. 

Yes, he’s helped the Turks out of a few tight spots, and he’s used it to gather information others wouldn’t normally be able to get without exposing themselves, but he’s _not_ a Turk _or_ a bad guy, and he doesn’t want to be associated with cold-blooded killers and the other scum that skulk the halls of the Shinra Building, because he’s not that—whatever he is, it’s _not that._

He just wants to help her, just like he’s always wanted to do. He just wants her to be safe, to be happy, and if those things mean a life without him, then Reeve isn’t going to push his luck. He’s already been given years with her, which is much more than other men were ever given. 

But when he thinks about all the other men in Charlie’s life, Reeve comes to a horrifying conclusion that makes his chest tighten and his stomach churn, and his palms are all clammy and the nape of his neck feels hot with his hair pressed against his damp flesh.

Every man in Charlie’s life would fight or would have fought for her, would fight for a chance to have her or to keep her from being with some other greasy and handsy bastard. 

Rufus would kill if it meant having her for himself, Tseng _has_ killed to keep others away from her. Cid would likely fight for her, though it would be dirty fighting and cheap shots and cursing, Reeve is sure. 

Hell, even Angeal probably would have fought for her. 

Of course he would have. That’s Charlie’s entire gimmick—she bats her eyelashes, laughs sweetly and tells a few jokes, and within seconds, she could have any man do anything for her. After all, isn’t that what she did to _him_?

For all of her feigned innocence and naivety, Reeve knows that Charlie knows _exactly_ what she’s doing. She’s certainly not stupid, and her silver tongue is likely how she forced herself onto Avalanche, as well. 

The problem is, there’s not much fighting he can do from behind a computer screen, speaking through a toy that makes him slightly insecure now that Charlotte knows about it. Not that she’s an expert in robotics, but she knows a little something about engineering and machinery, and despite everything, Reeve still craves her approval. 

Damn. 

Shinra has a funny way of doing that, he supposes, distracting you with smiles and praises and promises, and before you know it, you’re being dragged deeper and deeper into a hellish company built on lies, blood and bodies, secrets, and information better left buried. 

And after a while, there is no escape, and there will never be a future clean or clear of their influence, and in the end, you’ll only ever have one place to go, back to the company that breathed life and opportunity and confidence into you in the first place. And if you know too much, there is only one way that your career with Shinra Inc. will end: a bullet to the head, and maybe a second for good measure. 

Is there any way to break free? If Charlie, the vice president, could do it, why can’t he? 

_Because I know too much. Rufus would not hesitate to give the order, and not a single Turk working for Shinra would hesitate in regards to following an order to execute me._

All of a sudden, Reeve feels his office is too small. It’s confining and oppressive and the walls are closing in on him, trapping him within his golden tower. 

He has no friends, and no allies. He has a shaky foundation of trust crumbling beneath the feet of himself and Rufus. Charlie is half a world away, living out some ridiculous fantasy with a group of terrorists in order to make her way to Tseng and fall into his arms. The other executives can’t be swayed. 

And outside of the company, he is utterly alone. He won’t return to his mother, beaten and downtrodden and broken from the weight of his work. The only acquaintances he can trust are the same ones who would kill him, but they’re far removed from his reach and far too close to Rufus to trust with any extreme ideas or doubts. 

Reeve’s eyes are drawn to the wide windows of his office. He’s always preferred the cityscape at night, but he supposes there is beauty in it during the day. He’s poured his heart and soul into building Midgar, and it’s one thing he can be proud of. 

He can’t say that about much anymore. 

* * *

He isn’t sure what brings him to the Sector Five slums later that day, as the sun is going down. 

He isn’t sure if it’s the love he feels for Charlie, or if it’s guilt, but _something_ brings him to the dusty courtyard of the Leaf House orphanage, asking one of the older boys to fetch Ms. Folia, a neatly wrapped gift tucked under his arm and one of his old gym bags slung heavily over his shoulder. 

The boy darts inside and shouts loud enough for the citizens atop the plate to hear. “ _Ms. Folia!_ Charlie’s boyfriend is asking for you!” He returns a moment later as Reeve lingers a few feet from the front doors, shrugging his shoulders. “She’ll be right down. She said you can wait inside, mister.”

Several other children begin to peek out of windows and around the front door to watch. Reeve clears his throat, smoothing his hair back and shifting under the critical gazes of all the little orphans. He recognizes most of them, but can’t place names to them like Charlie could.

“Excuse me,” he says kindly to the children, and they part immediately to let him inside. 

It looks (and smells) like they’re just preparing to have dinner. The classroom tables have been pushed together and a little girl and boy are slowly setting the table, stealing glances at him all the while as if afraid to look away for too long. 

He feels very out of place without Charlotte at his side, drawing away all their attention, and he suddenly recognizes that he must look very intimidating in his suit and fine clothing, cursing himself for not making a better effort to look friendly. There’s a reason that Charlie wears such simple and casual clothing here, and it’s not because she’s likely going to get dirty. 

He clears his throat again, feeling warm around the collar. “Is one of you . . . Leila?” Reeve asks the children at large. 

They swivel all at once to face the girl setting the table, her long face framed with stick-straight orange hair. Her eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates on the tables and she blushes furiously, hands full of cutlery hovering awkwardly above the table. 

“I’ve come on behalf of Charlie,” he assures her, offering out the gift. “She received your letter and was terribly sorry she couldn’t make it herself. A business trip has recently taken her out of town, unfortunately.”

The mention of Charlie puts Leila at ease, and she sets the silverware down to wander curiously over to him. Reeve kneels, putting himself at eye level with her, and gives her the present. He hopes it’s adequate enough, not wanting to make Charlie look bad. 

“Can I open it now?” she asks, her eyebrows raised. 

“Please do.”

Leila smiles, and her friends circle up around her like vultures, cooing over the present in her hands. She opens it with a giggle, tugging at the ribbon and tearing at the paper. It’s only another remote control airplane (a damned expensive one, at that) with a fancy little remote that has a bunch of buttons that Leila presses quickly, all at once. 

“Wow, thanks, mister! It’s just what I asked for!” Leila tells him excitedly, cradling the plane to her chest. “When’s Charlie coming back?”

“I’m not sure,” Reeve says, genuinely sorry about it. “But I’ll let her know to come straight here when she returns. She’ll be thrilled to see how good you’ve gotten at flying the plane around.”

Leila nods at him, allowing herself to be swept up in the excited chatter of the other children. When Reeve stands back up, Ms. Folia is coming down the back stairs, wiping her hands on the front of her shirt and trying to see what all the fuss is about.

“Leila, I thought I told you to set the table for dinner,” she chides quietly, looking exasperated and exhausted. 

“Charlie’s boyfriend brought me a birthday present!” Leila squeals, showing it off to Ms. Folia, who casts a nervous gaze in his direction. 

“Very nice. Did you say thank you? Why don’t you put that in your room so we can get started with dinner soon? You can play with it after.” Ms. Folia watches Leila sprint up the stairs, a few children trailing after her. “Director, what can I do for you?”

Reeve casts a quick glance around the room. “Is there some place we could speak more privately?”

Ms. Folia seems wary and hesitant, and he understands completely, but she agrees before he needs to make a more convincing argument, and leads him right back up the steps she just came down from. 

“The vice president isn’t with you today?” she asks over her shoulder as Reeve follows her up to the second floor.

“No, she’s been called away on business.”

“I see,” Ms. Folia answers. “The children were very happy to watch the inauguration parade. We took the entire morning off from lessons just to let them watch.”

She leads him into a small and cramped room that must be Ms. Folia’s own personal living space. It’s the size of his closet, with a bed crammed into one corner and a desk that’s covered in invoices and books in the other, and clothes are thrown over the back of her desk chair and bed and hanging from a pipe that’s visible from the ceiling. 

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, attempting to clean up, but Reeve gives his head a shake. “It’s rare I have a moment to myself, and I hardly use those rare moments for cleaning.”

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t be long. I only wanted to give you something,” he tells her. Lowering the bag from his shoulder, he places it at the foot of her bed and unzippers it. Thick, bound stacks of bills are packed in with hefty bags of gil, enough money to keep the orphanage running for ten more years if they’re frugal. “It’s all yours. For the orphanage.”

Ms. Folia looks on the verge of fainting. She blanches and stutters, and Reeve even reaches out as she begins to sway, but she catches herself on the chair, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Director, please, this is too much,” she rasps, a hand over her heart. “What have we . . . what do you . . . ?”

He knows what she’s thinking without having to hear her say it. He doubts anyone has ever approached her like this before. “No strings attached,” he adds, “I just want you to have it.”

She doesn’t look as doubtful as before. “This is very generous, Director. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

Reeve smiles weakly, giving her a slight nod before remembering something. “Actually,” he says suddenly, “there is one string, but it’s . . . when Charlotte returns, she would be very happy to see the children again, I think. That would be enough repayment for me.”

“Of course!” Ms. Folia says quickly, sounding relieved. “We’re so sorry, Director. We had _no_ idea that she was Avalanche.” 

_Neither did I._

She looks down at the money again, pursing her lips, her eyes watery behind the smudged lenses of her glasses. “It was very kind of you to answer Leila’s letter.”

“Thank you. I’ll see myself out.” He reaches into the inside of his suit jacket, retrieving a small card with his office phone number on it. “Please call my office if the orphanage needs anything. Just tell my assistant who you are, and I’ll see to it that you’re not left waiting.”

When he gets back on the train bound for the plate, Reeve doesn’t feel that he’s done anything extraordinary or heroic, but he thinks about the smile on Leila’s face and the way Ms. Folia’s eyes had filled with tears at his charity, and he thinks he’ll be able to sleep well tonight, knowing that he’s at least done something _good_ , knowing that, regardless of how irrelevant his small rebellion was, at least he did it. 

Unfortunately, what he doesn’t predict (funny, considering Cait’s mediocre fortune-telling abilities) is having his little robot friend tossed into a desert prison that night alongside the boy that wields the sword of Charlie’s first love, and a pink-cheeked girl named Aerith that Reeve knows very well to be the last living Ancient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dumb-apple.tumblr.com


	36. Chapter 36

“What the _hell_ is going on here, Dio? I want to know how you’ve allowed a massacre to take place under your nose, I want to know why my friends were imprisoned for it, and I want to know _now_.”

“We didn’t realize they were with you,” Dio replies, closing the door of his showroom to hide the bloody mess in the main lobby of the Battle Arena. His tanned skin is shiny with either sweat or oil, his immodest costume (a tiny pair of briefs that _glitter_ in the overhead light, leaving absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination) drawing her gaze no matter how much she fights it. “The evidence was overwhelming, Madam Vice President, and we caught them at the scene of the crime.”

“Who?”

“Well, we’re sure the culprit was the man with the gun-arm, of course, just as the receptionist described, but his accomplices . . . the spiky-haired boy, a girl in pink, and . . . well, to be honest, I’m not quite sure what the other thing was, but I think it was a cat.”

“And what did they say about the bodies?”

“Er . . . nothing, incidentally. No confession was coerced.”

“And the others?”

“The others have . . . have joined their friends in the prison.”

“So you just threw potentially innocent people into an inescapable prison? You didn’t think to ask what happened? You didn’t think to simply detain them and come find me?”

It’s definitely sweat. Dio is three times as wide as her in the shoulders, two times as tall, but he cowers under her gaze—as he should. After all, she’s the vice president, and if she feels that Dio has made a terrible mistake, she absolutely has the power to punish him for his incompetence.

“I’m sorry, Madam Vice President,” he continues, bulky arms held awkwardly at his sides. “The evidence was overwhelming, and we had to see to it that no threat to you was—”

“I want to see them. Bring them to me, or I’m going down to talk to them.”

Dio stares at her for a moment like she’s crazy.

She very well might be.

Several employees still lie dead on the other side of the showroom door, bodies riddled with bullets, floor smeared with blood, an unknown assailant possibly still creeping around the Gold Saucer, her travel companions thrown unceremoniously into the desert prison beneath their feet. 

But she mustn’t allow herself to show any fear, despite how frightened she is. Rufus would never allow fear to dictate his decisions, would never show any sign of weakness towards a subordinate. 

She’s happy about it. Happy for something to distract her from sadness and tears. Happy for a reason to be angry, even if it’s horrible. She’s good at looking and sounding intimidating. She hardly has to try—her last name does half the work on its own. 

“But . . . Madam Vice President!” Dio sounds shocked at her suggestion. “You can’t possibly put yourself in a room with those heathens, nor can you go down to Corel Prison alone!”

“I have nothing to fear,” she replies confidently. “My friends are innocent, and they’ll prove it.”

If Barret had wanted to go on a shooting spree to express his vehement anger and dislike towards Shinra Electric Power Company, surely she would have been his first target. She was vulnerable, alone, and he knew where she was sleeping. 

It’s hard to dispute the receptionist’s claim of it having been a man with a “gun-arm”, but Charlie has a hard time believing it.

Dio looks very torn, probably torn between obeying the vice president’s wishes and denying her the right to something possibly dangerous. “Perhaps I should send some security with you, just in case—”

_He’s really going to make me go down into the prison,_ she thinks, incredulous. How hard would it be to bring a handful of new prisoners back up to the Gold Saucer? “No,” she replies. “Just me. Show me to the elevator.”

“It’s dangerous—”

“Don’t worry. I have a gun, and my friends are very well armed.” Charlie pats the handgun tucked into the holster that Barret had given her. It’s nice to have her gun in the open, a warning to everyone who speaks to her that she isn’t completely helpless. Not that she knows how to use the gun (she hasn’t even fired it once yet), but no one else needs to know that. “And when I come back up from that prison, _with_ my friends, we will _all_ be walking out of here unmolested, with their names cleared, and you will forget we were ever here. Is that understood?”

Dio nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“If you tell anyone we were here, I _will_ call my brother, the _president_ , and you can discuss why you refused to follow my orders with him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charlie looks at him for a long time. “And when we leave, we’ll need a car.”

He nods again, this time quickly.

“Now, take me to the elevator, or I’m going to get _really_ angry.”

* * *

She understands what Dio had been nervous about the moment she touches down in Corel Prison. 

Not only is the open prison uncomfortably hot, even with the sun nearly set in earnest, surrounded by sand on all sides for miles and miles and miles, and made mostly of junk, but groups of two or three men are scattered about the place, turning to look at Charlie as she walks into the center of the “town”, where a few buildings remain from whatever came before the prison. 

The gazes are unsettling, and she feels as if she turns her back on the wrong person, it will be a fatal mistake. She touches her gun lightly, knowing that, if it comes down to it, she’ll have no choice but to just aim and shoot and hope that she doesn’t miss her target. 

“Hey, baby,” says a voice to her right, and Charlie turns with all the dignity she can muster, “you look a little lost.”

Three men watch from underneath an overhang of a sheet metal roof, shoulder to shoulder. The one who speaks is bald, the top of his head bright red and peeling. He sweats heavily in the heat, disgustingly so, and takes a few steps closer to her, revealing a pointed rat-face and brown front teeth.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replies, turning away and never moving her hand from her gun. 

“Hey—” His arm shoots out to take hold of her own, jerking her back. “I ain’t done talking to you.”

“I am,” Charlie snaps back, trying to pull away from him. “Let go of me. Don’t you know who I am?”

“A pretty little thing, that’s who,” he answers, pulling her closer. Charlie digs her heels into the ground, prepared to knee him between the legs before pulling her gun out. “There’s three of us and only one of _you_ , honey. I wouldn’t fight it, if I were you. It’ll be easier that way.”

Charlie moves without thinking, bringing her foot up to kick the man right between the legs. He shouts, releases her, and drops to his knees while calling her every name under the evening sun, but before she’s able to get away, the other two men are on her, grabbing her arms and forcing them behind her. 

She’s able to kick her leg out again, and she’s close enough to the bald man for her foot to connect hard with his nose. The following _crack!_ and cry of pain gives Charlie a small feeling of satisfaction. 

“You bitch!” he screams into his palms, still on his knees with blood leaking from his nostrils. “You broke my nose!” 

Despite the furious pounding of her heart, Charlie sticks her tongue out at the man groveling on the ground, cradling his broken nose with tears in his eyes. 

“You’re in for it now,” one of the men rasps in her right ear. 

“Like hell I am,” she hisses. “I’m Charlotte Shinra, the vice president, and I demand you let me go immediately.”

“Yeah, and I’m Doofus Shinra, president of the world,” says the other man into her left ear. “Can’t you tell by the hair? Besides, if you were really Charlotte Shinra, you’d like fucking your brother, wouldn’t you?”

Charlie turns her head slightly, just to humor him. His hair is straw-colored and sticking up in all directions, greasy and matted. “You look nothing like my brother,” she decides. “And I would take care not to call him that again, if I were you.”

“Doesn’t matter what you want,” says Doofus, and Charlie screams as one of their feet comes down hard on the back of her calf, forcing her to the dirt ground. She catches herself with her now-freed hands, looking up to find herself nearly face to face with the broken-nosed man. 

“Hold on,” he pants, lowering his hand slightly to show her his bruising and crooked nose. Eyes rove her face for a moment, taking in the hair and the eyes. “I . . . I don’t think she’s lying. Looks like Charlotte Shinra to me.”

“How would you know?” Doofus snorts. 

“She was on the cover of that—” His eyes go wide, fixing on something over her right shoulder, and then her left. 

As Charlie goes to turn around, her leg aching dully, both of the men who held her arms thump heavily to the ground. Upon closer inspection, two small shurikens are lodged into the backs of their necks, where blood is beginning to bubble. When she looks up, two very familiar figures are running towards her. 

“You could have killed me, you know,” Charlie remarks. 

“No way. I know what I’m doing! And don’t say I never did anything for ya,” Yuffie mutters, taking back her shurikens and wiping the blood off on the front of her shirt. 

“You okay?” Tifa asks, reaching down to help Charlie to her feet. 

Charlie brushes herself off, turning to the third man, who still kneels before all three women, looking desperately frightened. “I’m fine,” she answers, speaking then to the man in front of her. “You know who I am?”

“Yes,” he replies raggedly. “Yes, you’re the vice president. Ma’am. Forgive me. I’m so sorry to have bothered you. Ma’am. Miss Shinra. Madam VP.”

“So you understand what I’m very capable of doing to people who disrespect me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sighs, glancing left and right at Tifa and Yuffie, respectively. “Get out of here,” she tells him. His manhood and his nose are probably already hurting enough, and there’s not much he can do without his friends. Once he hobbles away, Charlie turns back to face the others, a little more irritable. “Can one of you explain what the _hell_ is going on?”

“I don’t know what they told you,” Tifa begins quickly, looking troubled. “But . . . I just know that Barret didn’t do this. I can’t believe it. He wouldn’t hurt innocent people.”

“I know,” Charlie answers, glad to hear that she hadn’t lied to Dio’s face, offering Tifa a small smile. 

“You . . . know?”

“I don’t really know Barret that well,” Charlie continues, the logic of it seemingly so simple, “but the fact that I’m still very much alive and well and not full of holes . . . that kind of gave it away.”

“Well, that’s great, then!” Yuffie says, punching at the air in an excited sort of way. “A jailbreak sounds like fun to me. This place sucks. What’s the plan, Shinra? Gonna hold up a few guards? Fight our way out?”

“Wait, hold on, no, no, no,” Charlie says, unable to keep from laughing in Yuffie’s face. The younger girl’s face twists unnaturally and her mouth forms a scowl. “There is no jailbreak. There is no fighting. We’re just going to round up the others and _calmly_ take the elevator back up to the Gold Saucer—”

“That’s boring,” Yuffie complains. 

“I’m sorry that my plan doesn’t involve the murder of more prisoners, okay?” Charlie snaps, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. Or maybe it’s just the sun. It’s hot, and the hair at the back of her neck is already sticking to her skin. She’ll be thankful for the darkness. “Let’s find everyone else, figure out who just slaughtered a bunch of Shinra guards—”

“Like that matters,” Yuffie interrupts, scoffing loudly and crossing her arms. “It’s what they deserve, after serving in the war—”

“Those guards—those _people_ —are my responsibility now,” Charlie cuts across her, feeling more presidential than she’s felt in a long time. Yuffie’s just a stupid kid, but that only makes her angrier. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “And I can tell you right now, that _half_ of Shinra security has never set foot in Wutai. They’re young boys in need of some pocket change who joined too late to get a piece of the glory.”

Tifa looks sheepish, but Yuffie turns her face away, pouting. 

“If I don’t get to the bottom of this, then I have failed them as their vice president.” She steps closer to Yuffie. “If you don’t like my plan, then we will leave without you, and you can find your own damn way to escape. Now, let’s find everyone else, get the hell out of here, and move on. We’re wasting time.”

If Yuffie wants to continue arguing, she has the decency to keep her mouth shut for the time being. It’s a good plan, an _easy_ plan, so long as nothing has happened to the others. 

Red XIII is the first found companion, lying in the cool dirt in the shade by a dry well. He’s glad to see them all safe and unhurt, asking questions about the assailant that none of the women have answers for yet. 

They find Cloud, Aerith, and Barret relatively easily, gathered in one of the old and abandoned buildings, and they aren’t alone. As soon as Charlie follows Tifa over the threshold and into the small sitting room, someone calls out, “Charlotte!”

Charlie, startled (no one here calls her _Charlotte_ ), turns to the source of the voice, only to find something very familiar looking back at her. “Oh,” she says. “You’re the fortune-teller. How did you end up here?”

“The name’s Cait Sith, and I guess you could say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the cat answers woefully. “You shouldn’t be down here, anyway! It’s dangerous!”

“I can handle myself, thanks.” Charlie scoffs, flashing Cloud an annoyed look. “Do you just recruit anyone you meet?”

“If I didn’t, you might not be here,” Cloud replies, but his tone isn’t completely humorless. If the circumstances weren’t so dire and dramatic right now, Charlie dares to believe he might have given her a stiff little smile. “How did you get down here? They don’t really think the VP did this, do they?”

“No, of course not,” she says, giving her shoulders a slight shrug. “I took the elevator. _Someone_ had to come get you, didn’t they?” She looks at Barret, sighing. His eyes are fixed on the floor, his shoulders hunched. “I know you didn’t do this, Barret. I think it’s pretty obvious that I would have been your first, and probably only, victim.”

“You have to tell us what’s going on,” Tifa urges him gently. “They said a man with a gun-arm did this. What are you not telling us?”

The house is quiet for a moment, the only sound the floorboards creaking underneath everyone’s shifting weight. “There was someone else who got a gun grafted onto his arm, four years ago,” Barret tells them all. He slumps against the wall, sinking down to the ground and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Dyne and I, we were on our way back from a nearby reactor that was being built, and that’s when we found out ‘bout Corel, ‘bout the Shinra bastards burning it down. I stood and watched as my entire life went up in flames.”

Charlie’s face hardens. She knows what they’re all thinking. She knows they all hate Shinra and, by extension, _her_. She knows they’re all blaming her for what happened. 

“We tried to get back, but Shinra soldiers ambushed us and started shooting,” he continues, pushing aside the neckline of his tank top to show off half of a scar Charlie’s never noticed before.

She’s known enough Turks in her lifetime to know what a bullet wound looks like once its healed and scarred over. Reno has a swollen and puckered one on his shoulder that he’s rather proud of (his initiation rite, he calls it), Tseng has five separate ones across his chest and stomach from an encounter that left him unconscious for four days, and when Veld would take his shirt off at the beach, his torso seemed to have more gunshot scars than her little-girl-self could count.

“And in the chaos, Dyne lost his footing and would have fallen to his death if I hadn’t caught him.”

Aerith slowly lowers herself to the ratty sofa, holding her hands in her lap. 

“But they kept shootin’ and shootin’ and . . . I lost my grip on Dyne.” Barret looks up at them all for the first time, but he avoids looking into Charlie’s face completely. “From then on, I couldn’t use my right arm no more. I was depressed for a little, but then I got rid of my artificial arm and got this grafted in.” He pats the gun affectionately with his left hand, like they’ve been through a lot together. “I got it to take revenge on Shinra.”

Charlie and Barret meet eyes for the first time. He lifts his arm to point it at her, but she isn’t afraid. If he hasn’t shot yet, she doesn’t really think he will at all. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Wait a minute!” Cait Sith protests, leaping to Charlie’s side and waving his hands as if hoping to draw Barret’s attention away from her. “Why don’t you put the gun down? She didn’t do anything!”

“Shinra took _everything_ from me,” Barret says through gritted teeth, clearly pained. After a moment, he lowers his gun again, defeated. “But I heard from the doctor that another man had the same procedure done. But not his right arm, his left.”

“Dyne?” Aerith asks suddenly, and it’s this that causes everyone’s attention to be pulled away from Barret. “You don’t think . . . ?”

“He has reason to hate Shinra, too,” Tifa agrees, looking hopeful again. Charlie knows it’s an act. There’s something perpetually sad about her. “Maybe he would join us, if we explained to him—”

“That’s why _you_ gotta get outta here,” Barret says, nodding towards Charlie. “Dyne’s too far gone now, but I gotta apologize to him before I can rest in peace. He ain’t gonna want to see me traveling with the vice president of the company.” He pushes himself back to his feet. “Y’all go with her. I have to do this alone. I’ll catch up.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Cloud replies, shaking his head. “I can’t have you dying on me.”

“We still have work to do, Barret,” Tifa frowns, taking a few steps closer to lay a small hand upon his forearm. “Don’t you want to save the planet?”

Barret growls. “Of course I do.”

“Red and I will go with you, for backup,” Cloud says, an order from a commander. There is no arguing with it, but Charlie doesn’t have any qualms with the idea. If Barret has a chance to settle his past and put an end to the brutality committed, she’s going to let him. “The rest of you, follow Charlie up the elevator and wait for us there.”

Aerith stands up quickly from her place on the sofa. “We’re not going without you. The rest of us will wait here for you to come back, and we’ll leave _together_.”

“I like that plan,” Yuffie sighs happily, punching the air again and bouncing on her feet, preparing for battle. “Sure you don’t need a little extra backup, Cloud? I’m pretty good. Ask Charlie. Saved her from some pretty rapey guys out there.”

Cait Sith sounds panicked. “What rapey guys?”

Charlie shrugs. “It’s true.” She nods at Barret. “Go. We’ll wait here.”

After affirming nods from the rest of his friends, Barret leads Cloud and Red XIII out of the house, and hopefully, not to their doom.

* * *

“Here, found it.” 

Holding the map against the dashboard with her elbow and shining the light down upon it with her right hand, Charlie points to the small village written in minuscule writing upon the map. It’s an unfortunate amount of miles away from their current location. 

“Gongaga. Keep going due south.” She glances at the compass in her lap, jostled around by the rough terrain, but still pointing faithfully south. “We’ll have to cross the river somehow.”

“Dio said the buggy could.”

“It’s a bit weighed down, don’t you think?”

“We’ll find somewhere shallow. Know anything about Gongaga?”

“Only that there was a reactor there once, but it exploded some years ago, taking half the town with it. I’ve never been there before.”

It’s not as cramped in the buggy as Charlie had believed it would be. She has plenty of room in the passenger seat, with Cloud driving on her left. The rest of their party has thrown themselves carelessly around the empty space in the back, big enough to hold their weapons and each other, even Cait Sith’s wide moogle, which seems to double as a very comfortable pillow big enough for all of the women. 

They’re all asleep, or feigning very well. She isn’t entirely sure if Cait Sith needs to sleep at all, but he’s very still.

“How far is the river?” 

“Far enough that we should start looking for a town with an inn or a place to camp for the night,” Charlie sighs, folding up the map and clicking her flashlight off. “If we leave early enough in the morning, we’ll make good time if we rotate drivers every few hours.”

“I don’t think half of them know how to drive.”

“Ah, we’ll figure it out.” She glances around her to make sure everyone is still sleeping. “So what happened with Dyne?”

“It’s taken care of.”

“That doesn’t explain Barret’s complete silence tonight. That’s more unnerving than his anger, I think.” 

“Do you see a place to stop for the night?”

She turns the flashlight back on, searching the map. “There’s a village close to the river, but we’ll never make it tonight. You’ll be driving through the night to make it in the morning.”

Cloud hums. “I can drive a little longer.”

“Good.” Charlie stuffs her things back into her backpack, but keeps her compass out to make sure they don’t get turned around. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

She lowers her voice. “Red told me you’re making a detour to Cosmo Canyon. I want to go there, as well.”

“I thought the deal was that we’d bring you to the Turks. To Tseng.”

“We agreed that you would bring me _close enough_ to the Turks that I could manage the rest of the journey on my own,” she counters softly, hoping no one is listening in on their conversation. She wouldn’t put it past Yuffie to be gathering all the information she can. “But I’ve changed my mind. I want to go to Cosmo Canyon with you, and after you leave there, I can manage on my own.”

Cloud looks sideways at her. The headlights of the buggy brighten the dirt road that they’re following, but to the left and right of them is only darkness. “What’s your deal?” he asks bluntly. “You have an execution facing you in Midgar or what? What’s going to happen to you if we give you to the Turks?”

“Worried about me?” she teases. 

“Aerith might get upset if something happens to you.”

The sentiment is too kind for Charlie to laugh. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen yet,” she admits. “I was kind of hoping the Turks could answer that for me.”

“So you’re officially on the run now?”

“I guess so.”

“Then why isn’t anyone looking for you? Shouldn’t there be a worldwide alert for the vice president?”

“My brother probably doesn’t want to alert the world to my disappearance at all. People might start to wonder why the vice president chose to leave the company, and you know how many secrets Shinra has to unearth.” She gives him a tired smile. “So you’ll keep me safe until Cosmo Canyon, right?”

“For the right price,” Cloud says. “And we’re still going to Gongaga first. Sephiroth takes priority. What’s in Cosmo Canyon for you, anyway?”

“You’re just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

“And I can’t help but notice you’re deflecting almost every one.”

Charlie scoffs, trying to identify any landmarks outside the window. Barret is snoring from behind her. “Fine,” she whispers. “Red recognized my mother in a photograph, and he claims she’s still at Cosmo Canyon.”

“Is she?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since I was a child.”

Cloud is quiet for a minute. The buggy continues its journey down the rough road. “All right.”

“What’s your price?” she asks, somewhat sharply. They’re going to bleed her dry, no doubt, with this new request. She can spare it, of course, but it’s the _audacity_. “I’m sure my company alone isn’t enough for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers, untroubled by Charlie’s sudden coldness. “We’re headed that way anyway. Consider it repayment for getting us out of the prison.”

Charlie isn’t going to question it. If everyone else were awake, she’s certain they would insist that Charlie give them another sack of twenty-thousand gil, but getting that money would cause more trouble than it’s worth. “Got another question for you,” she murmurs, wondering if her honesty will get her anywhere. “About your sword.”

Cloud raises an eyebrow, looking wary. “What about it?”

She doesn’t know how to approach it. She doesn’t know how to ask about who the sword used to belong to. What if it’s not the same one? But that’s impossible. That’s Angeal’s sword—she knows what Angeal’s sword had looked like, because it mattered so much to him, and—

“You okay? You look kind of pale.”

Her throat feels very constricted. “I just . . . wondered where you got your sword from.”

“Had it for a long time.”

Charlie can’t tell if he’s lying. It’s such a casual and nonchalant answer that Charlie almost thinks he’s telling the truth, but what about Angeal? What about Zack? “No one gave it to you?”

“Like who?”

She blinks at him. “Do you remember a SOLDIER named Angeal?”

There’s a split second in which she thinks he’s going to tell her the information she’s half-dreading. And then, something happens, but she doesn’t know _what._

Cloud grunts, lifting his right hand to his head as his eyes flutter closed. His foot presses heavy on the gas pedal as far as it can go, without even seemingly realizing it, and Charlie braces herself against the dashboard as the buggy jerks forward violently. 

“Cloud!” Charlie gasps, shaking him by the shoulder. He might be having a seizure, but she isn’t sure. She isn’t even sure if he can hear her. “Cloud, slow down!”

At the sound of her voice, Cloud looks up, suddenly realizing what’s going on and slamming on the brake in one fell swoop of his foot. 

His right arm shoots out stiffly to stop Charlie from going through the windshield, but the impact of her chest against his forearm still knocks the wind out of her. She hears everyone shuffling and cursing around in the back, and someone slams into the back of Charlie’s seat hard. 

“What’s going on?”

“Did we crash?”

Cloud and Charlie look at each other for a long moment, and then she glances back over her shoulder to find everyone staring at them, wide-eyed. Yuffie is pressing her face to the nearest window, and Tifa and Aerith are both rubbing their heads. 

“Is everyone okay?” Charlie asks, and they all nod in return. She looks at Cloud warily again. “Cloud? You all right?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps, breathing heavily for a second, giving his head a shake, and sighing. “Just tired. We’ll make camp here tonight.”

Her heart racing, Charlie doesn’t think she’s going to ask about the Buster Sword again.

* * *

“Is there a reason you don’t sleep in the tent?” 

Charlie lifts her eyes to look at him, shaking some dirt out of her boot. 

Her light blonde hair is pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, leaving a few loose strands to frame her face, and she’s clad in just a gray tank top that’s slightly sweat-stained. Even in the dark, her chest gleams with sweat. It must be warm. 

He wouldn’t know. It’s rather cool in the confines of his office at the Shinra Building, probably the only person still in the entire place besides the cleaning staff and night security. 

“I just feel more comfortable sleeping outside. Besides, there’s not enough room in the tent for me.” She slips her other boot off and shakes that one out, too. “I don’t mind,” she adds quickly. 

He’s quiet for a moment. Reeve is just happy she’s talking to him. 

“I’m sorry for being short with you earlier at the Gold Saucer,” she says suddenly, fixing her backpack and lying on the hard ground, using her bag as a pillow, her gun lying at her side, still stuffed into the holster. “You kind of caught me at a bad time.”

“Water under the bridge now.”

“All right. Good-night.”

She rolls over, putting her back to him, and falls asleep quickly. 

She looks so incredibly uncomfortable that it makes him sad, seeing Charlotte lying on the ground, with nothing but a backpack and a jacket to use as her bed. It’s nerve wracking to see her just lying there, out in the open, where anyone or anything can sneak out of the shadows and hurt her. 

Reeve thought it might be harder to earn their trust— _much_ harder. 

Instead, the moment they had left the Gold Saucer, they had all spoken of Dio’s indication that Sephiroth had made towards Gongaga, and then they had offered him a space in the buggy, and that was that. 

But that information isn’t half as important to him as the other information he had overheard.

The first piece of information was just confirmation of something he had already guessed—or rather, what Scarlet had guessed: Charlie was seeking out the Turks (more specifically, Tseng).

But now she’s determined to find her mother, the mother that has been assumed dead ever since before he ever met Charlie.

Is it possible that she’s found her mother at all? What are the chances that it’s the wrong woman? There are many who might pretend to have been the late president’s mistress in order to secure some respect or money. 

And after setting up camp and starting a fire, he had watched through another’s eyes as Aerith had sat down next to Charlie, whispering into her ear and they had giggled like children as everyone stretched their legs and yawned and complained. Reeve had no idea what they were talking about, but he hadn’t needed to know details to think _oh no oh no oh no._

He needs to put a stop to it now, before Charlie grows too attached to these people, before he causes her even more heartache by betraying them. 

He sends a text to both Rufus and Tseng. 

_Headed for Gongaga,_ he writes. _Will be there in a few days._


	37. Chapter 37

He has to admit, Charlotte takes everything thrown at her in stride, with far more dignity than he would ever be able to muster himself. 

They’re running low on funds the closer they get to the river they intend to cross, in the hopes it will bring them closer to Gongaga _and_ Sephiroth. Not only does it fuel the tension, especially between Charlie and Barret, but Reeve finds himself jumping to her defense when the situation calls for it—and it nearly always does. 

But it’s not like Barret knows how little Charlie has truly been involved in the running of Shinra Inc., and Reeve can’t just say that without making Cait Sith sound incredibly suspect. 

Charlie had apparently given them some twenty-thousand gil to bring her to the Turks, but after upgrading weapons and buying materia and equipment and medicine and food, that twenty-thousand is almost gone already between them all. 

They collect what they can along the way, pooling any money they find and splitting it amongst themselves at the end of the day. It’s a small amount of money, but enough to buy everyone a hot meal. 

Barret is in charge of distributing the money, giving everyone else their equal share before finally approaching Charlie with the leftover gil in his palm. 

Cait Sith has himself propped against the side of Charlie's thigh, one of her thumbs distractedly stroking the white patch of fur on his chest. She’s taken a liking to the cat, but every moment she touches Cait or smiles at him or allows him to be at her side, Reeve feels himself being pulled deeper and deeper into the very hell he’s created for himself by agreeing to Rufus’s asinine and foolish request. 

“Guess that just leaves your cut, Shinra,” Barret growls after a minute, throwing a handful of gil (a significantly smaller amount than even Cait was given) at her feet. It scatters on the ground around her, but she hardly seems fazed, looking almost amused. 

Barret turns to walk away, remembering something at the last minute. 

“Hang on.” He stoops, picking up half the coins he threw at Charlie, very meticulously so she sees exactly how much he takes. “Consider it back taxes owed us grounders. The Shinra tax.”

“ _Barret_ ,” Tifa mutters, shooting Charlie an apologetic look. 

“We agreed we’d split it evenly,” Cloud interjects, watching the scene from the opening of the ratty tent. “That was the deal, and that includes Charlie.”

Frankly, Reeve finds their casual relationship bewildering. Not just Charlie and Cloud’s, but her relationship with the group as a whole. They act like it isn’t the vice president sitting amongst them, and none of them seem worried about offending her or making her angry. 

It’s odd to see Charlie interacting with people who don’t put her on a pedestal, like they’ve been doing her entire life. She doesn’t give commands, as she doesn’t wield much power here at all, and no one jumps to her requests when she does have a little favor that needs taken care of. 

And they call her _Charlie_ , like they’re comrades, like they’re friends. And she doesn’t even bat an eye when they address her as such. 

“Charlie needs to eat, too,” Tifa reminds him sternly. 

Barret scoffs loudly at that, pocketing the money he took from Charlie and then giving his pocket a protective pat. “You know what it’s like to feel hungry?” he asks her. 

Charlie, her mask never slipping, looks up at him, the firelight only enhancing her sharp features. She looks arrogant, beautifully so, and painfully like her brother. 

“And I mean _real_ hungry,” he continues, stepping closer. Charlie never stops stroking Cait’s fur, scratching lightly with her fingernails. Reeve almost envies the cat. “You ever been so hungry it’s painful, Shinra? You ever been so hungry, you can’t do nothing ‘bout it except go to sleep?”

“No,” she answers quietly. 

“No,” he repeats. “Fed everything off a silver spoon, is that it?”

“If it makes you feel better to believe that, then go ahead.”

Once Barret retreats into the tent, grumbling under his breath, his companions soon follow as the fire begins to die out, and only once everyone is inside does Charlie begin looking for the gil that blends in with the dead and dying grass around her. 

Cait Sith helps her, if only because Reeve feels so sorry about witnessing something that had felt very intimate, even through the screen of a computer. “We can share my cut, if you’d like,” he offers, holding out the gil for her. Charlie snatches it away, scowling. “I don’t really need to eat, anyway.”

“I don’t need your pity, _cat_ ,” she hisses, and that puts an end to whatever good mood she had been in before Barret’s little show. 

He thinks he hears her crying quietly before she falls asleep, and it breaks his heart that there’s no one to comfort her, no one to hold her, no one to tell her Barret had been in the wrong to treat her so poorly. 

Regardless, Charlie doesn’t outwardly complain about her lack of luxury, claiming that she feels safe underneath the stars, like her mother is watching. She doesn’t complain about the small portions of food she’s given, doesn’t complain about being cramped in the buggy (Yuffie complains about that more than anybody) for hours on end, doesn’t complain about not having had enough sleep. 

She does as she’s asked (not that Cloud and his friends ask very much of her) without questioning it, and even allows Cait Sith to sit upon her shoulders or in her lap while she’s driving the buggy or helping Cloud navigate the wild terrain by studying the map, ignoring the commotion coming from behind her.

Once, after a pack of monsters tries to flip the buggy with everyone still inside, they have to take a short break to dispatch the monsters. Cloud, Barret, Tifa, and Yuffie handle it just fine, but do not return unscathed. 

Tifa returns with a sizable cut just near her sternum, where it looks like a massive claw had gotten hold of her. Aerith is able to use some shoddy healing materia to numb the pain and knit some of the muscle back together, but the wound still needs stitches. 

Reeve offers, through Cait Sith, to go find a doctor in the nearby village, with every intention of calling one himself as soon as he’s far enough away from the party, but Charlie shakes her head. 

“What do you need to call a doctor for?” she asks, almost sounding defensive. “We don’t have the money for one, and I can do it myself.”

And to his surprise (and everyone else’s), Charlie removes the first-aid kit that had been tucked inside the buggy for their journey—a gift from Dio—and cleans and stitches the wound on Tifa’s chest with deft fingers and a confidence that he envies. 

“Where’d you learn to do _that_?” he asks through Cait, amazed that there’s so much he still has to learn about her. 

Charlie smiles coyly, rinsing her hands in a stream of water that Aerith pours out of a canteen for her. “I was practically raised by Turks,” she explains plainly. “You don’t grow up around Turks and _not_ learn how to care for a few flesh wounds.”

The thought makes Reeve slightly nauseous. How long has she been patching up Turks? Surely Veld wouldn’t have insisted his innocent little princess stitch him up after a mission, and he has a hard time believing Tseng would lie still and vulnerable long enough for Charlotte to put her hands all over him and do whatever a doctor could do better. 

Reno, he thinks. It must be Reno. Reno wouldn’t bother with a doctor if Charlie offered to patch him up. 

When they reach the village closest to their planned crossing point, they all decide to split up. Cloud suggests they question a few locals in regards to Sephiroth, restock, and look around. 

Everyone immediately pairs off, leaving Charlie and Cait Sith to go off on their own. 

To make things easier, Charlie has Cait leave behind his moogle and climb up onto her shoulders after she teases him about carrying him like a baby. As they walk aimlessly around the poor and sparsely populated village, unable to come across any information in regards to a man in a black cape, they stumble across an old and rusted vehicle that belongs to an old man with only a few wisps of hair left. 

Cait Sith asks him about Sephiroth, but the man doesn’t know what they’re talking about, complaining about getting his car to run with some very colorful language. 

“I can help with that,” Charlie says casually, shrugging her shoulders and opening the hood. “Want me to fix it for you?”

Instead of answering right away, the man looks at her curiously for a long time. “Aren’t you . . . are you . . . ?” he stammers, tilting his head this way and that. “Are you the vice president?”

“Yep,” she replies, shrugging Cait off her shoulders and reaching down for the toolbox without asking permission. “Want me to fix your car? It would make for a good story, don’t you think?”

The man stares at her, clearly overwhelmed. “What are you doing _here_ , ma’am? To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m on assignment, so I would appreciate you keeping it quiet for now,” she answers, sounding so sweet and excited. “But I’m on break at the moment. So do you want me to fix your car or not?”

“Oh—of course—if you think—yes, of course, please!”

Charlie grins, and it’s the most endearing smile he’s seen from her since first glimpsing her through his monitor at the Gold Saucer. 

Reeve watches her through Cait Sith’s eyes all the while, hardly able to believe what he’s been seeing the past few days. It’s like someone’s replaced _his_ Charlotte with another version of herself, a version of herself that she hasn’t been in years. 

There’s something different about her, something that’s almost childish and indulgent. Sometimes it feels like Reeve is looking at a version of Charlie that doesn’t have the burden of her father’s actions weighing heavily on her shoulders. 

When was the last time he had seen her behave like this? So at ease with the world and with _herself?_

He knows the answer. Four years ago, when Charlie had been overseeing the Space Exploration Department. She had been in her element, then—confident and powerful and charming, and so damned happy. 

He almost feels guilty, knowing that she isn’t aware who’s _really_ watching her, but he can’t look away, and he isn’t about to force Cait Sith to avert his eyes. 

She looks so pretty, bent over the front of a car, not wearing something expensive or revealing or fashionable, but a sleeveless shirt that reveals the shifting muscles of her arms as she works, that sometimes rides up to offer him a glimpse of her pale stomach. 

It’s enough to get his heart racing, but at the risk of taking on the role of some perverted voyeur, he allows Cait Sith to handle the rest of their time together in the village himself, and Reeve steps away from his office for a little while to get some fresh air. 

* * *

“Guess who just secured _actual_ beds for us tonight, ladies and gentlemen?” 

Charlie smiles sweetly as her companions look up to find her and Cait Sith making their way back towards the buggy. She’s sweating, the back of her neck stings from being exposed to the sun for a few hours, and her clothes are covered in oil and dirt, but at least she’s brought good news. 

“I did,” she finishes, when no one gives her the response she wanted or expected. “I fixed some guy’s car, and it turns out he owns the inn. I went inside, and it’s not as terrible as it looks from the outside. They even have a bar.”

“Not the palace you’re used to?” Barret asks with a cocked eyebrow. His tone isn’t as cruel as it normally is. He’s probably interested in the beds, as well, but refusing to seem eager. 

“He said we can stay there for free tonight, but some people will have to share beds.”

“Fine by me,” Aerith sighs, looking pleased with Charlie’s report. She smiles back, at least, which seems to cause a ripple effect among her friends. “We can spare a few hours of driving to get some extra sleep tonight, can’t we, Cloud?”

Cloud isn’t about to argue with the rest of his party, who all look rather excited to sleep in a bed again. “All right. We’ll get some rest and leave first thing in the morning.”

“I didn’t know you could fix a car,” Barret says, stroking the coarse hair on his chin that grows in thicker by the day. He almost sounds impressed, but he might just be a little surprised. “Guess you’re not entirely useless after all, Shinra.”

“I _am_ an aeronautical engineer,” she informs them. “It might shock you all to learn that I do know _some_ things, and one of those things is how to fix a car. It’s not that hard. Easier than fixing a rocket, anyway.”

“You cocky brat,” Barret snorts. “Didn’t realize we had a rocket scientist in our midst.”

“You’re an aeronautical engineer?” Tifa repeats, eyes wide. 

Tifa’s response discourages Charlie, but it’s not like anything was said to upset her on purpose. Charlie hasn’t really been a true aeronautical engineer for years, not since taking on the role of Communications Director, and then Vice President directly afterwards. It’s rare that someone acknowledges her other talents now, not when those talents are hardly being put to use anymore. 

She thinks of Cid, and the way he had looked at her while she had been helping with the _Tiny Bronco_ , the way he had praised her for the work she did. Her heart suddenly aches. 

“I was, a long time ago,” Charlie answers. “Anyway, I’m going to head back to the inn. I need a shower.” She grabs her backpack from the front seat of the buggy, giving them all a mocking bow. Feeling as if her good deed meant nothing to them, she adds, “You’re welcome, by the way. I’ll try to find a bit of floor space so no one has to draw straws over sharing a bed with me.”

“Not it,” Yuffie calls out, and Charlie blushes heatedly when she turns her back on them all, making back for the village. 

_Once we get to Gongaga, it will be smooth sailing from there,_ she tells herself. _We’ll go to Cosmo Canyon, I’ll see mother, and I’ll . . ._

And then she’ll what? Call for someone to take her back to Midgar? What’s in Midgar for her now? Reeve would never have her back, but maybe that’s for the best. If she hadn’t done it, he would have eventually. 

Truthfully, she’s disappointed that her journey will soon come to a close. She likes being among people who don’t all revere her, who treat her like a person, even if they can be purposefully cruel. At least they’re honest with her. 

If she returned to Midgar, she would only be surrounded by liars again, and Charlie feels it’s getting harder and harder to determine who is telling her the truth anymore, and when people smile at her, she has to wonder what they’re hiding behind their mask of cold and professional courtesy. 

Three rooms are available at the inn for them, and Charlie’s room has a single bed, a window, and a floor lamp with a torn lampshade, while the bathroom is the size of a cleaning closet. 

She moans quietly in disgust at the sight of the dirty toilet, but thinks about having to relieve herself in the woods with bugs all around and wonders if she should be grateful for a toilet at all. 

After scrubbing herself clean with soap that makes all the cuts on her body sting, Charlie heads down to the bar with the full intention of charming someone for a free drink, given that she doesn’t think she has enough money to buy one herself.

Her travel companions are circled around a table already, save Yuffie (the innkeep refused alcohol to an underage girl, it seems), Red XIII, and Cait Sith, who seem to have disappeared to their rooms already. 

Charlie makes to sit down at another table to give them some distance, but Barret stops her. 

“Over here, kid!” he calls, and she can hear the scraping of chair legs against the wooden ground. “Saved you a seat.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, sitting down between Barret and Aerith. 

“Get the girl a drink, would you, grandpa?” Barret shouts across the small bar, gesturing wildly at Charlie. 

Charlie’s cheeks go pink. “Barret, please—” she whispers, shaking her head. “I don’t have the money to—”

He laughs. “You can owe me one, then.”

“Oh.” Charlie blinks down at the tall glass of beer the innkeep sets before her, filled right up to the brim. “Thank you.”

“You know, for someone who’s used to the view from her gold tower, you’re not too bad at roughin’ it,” Barret notes. “And it ain’t poisoned, by the way. Drink up.”

Charlie blushes again, sipping at her beer. She knows it isn’t poisoned, but that’s exactly what _anyone_ would say about a poisoned drink. The beer tastes awful, but it’s refreshing after the long day of travel. “It’s horrible, actually,” she confesses, and this seems to lighten the mood, making Tifa and Aerith laugh quietly. “I just don’t feel I’ve earned the right to complain yet.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Barret drinks deep. Charlie can’t help but feel very out of place among this group of friends. “What are you gonna do when you get back to Midgar?”

“I don’t know,” she says, brushing her thumb against the condensation running down her glass. “Maybe I’ll see what other secrets my father’s been keeping from me.”

“You'll be there for a while, huh?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Are you excited to see your mother again, Charlie?” Aerith asks, smiling over a cup of tea. 

“I guess so,” Charlie says, but it isn’t the entire truth.

She’s been thinking about it for the past few days, choosing to dwell on it while she drives the buggy at night, listening to everyone else sleep behind her. 

If what Red XIII told her was true, it seems there’s a very slim chance that her mother is even alive, and she’s not going to try and convince herself otherwise. 

But (and there’s a very small chance of it) if Charlie’s mother _is_ still alive, bedridden by some kind of disease that’s eating away at her mind, what is she supposed to say?

What do you say to someone you haven’t seen for around twenty years? Charlie’s known most of the Turks for longer than her mother was around, and after her mother did leave, talk of her was forbidden in the Shinra household, and without anyone remembering her, it’s like she never even existed. 

Surprisingly, even to herself, Charlie can’t help but harbor anger towards her mother, resentment and envy.

_How could you forget about Rufus and I?_ she wants to ask. _How could you leave us behind like that?_ _We needed you. Why couldn’t I go with you?_

Maybe it’s better if she’s dead. Maybe Rufus knew that, too, and that’s why he always told Charlie that Mother had died a long time ago. Maybe it wasn’t her he was trying to convince, but himself.

Charlie can see his face without having to think very hard. When she pictures her brother’s face, he’s handsome and smiling, his perfect teeth and his pointed chin and long nose, pale eyes that have a warmth to them as he looks at her, his face so much like her own. 

She misses him. Terribly so. So badly that it’s painful.

“You know . . .” she rasps, clearing her throat and pushing herself to her feet. “Thanks for the drink, but I’m kind of tired. I think I’m going to go to bed.”

It isn’t long after Charlie retreats back to her room, lying quietly on the bed, that the door cracks open, creaking loudly on its rusty hinges. It feels so good to just lie down on something that isn’t the ground. 

She sits up immediately, unable to see who it is that’s creeping through the darkness. “Sorry,” she says quickly to the shadow. “I can make myself comfortable on the floor.” 

“Don’t be silly,” comes Aerith’s voice and the soft noise following the dropping of her satchel on the floor. “We can share. I don’t mind.”

Charlie doesn’t know why the idea makes her so flustered. She’s shared a bed with a girl before, but Cissnei had been a good friend of hers, so that was different. “Really,” she protests weakly, setting her feet on the ground. “You can have the bed.”

“You don’t like sleeping with other people?” Aerith asks, and Charlie hears the soft swishing as the other girl changes out of her travel clothes. “Is that why you never sleep in the tent?”

“No, I—” Charlie scowls. “I don’t have a problem with sleeping in a bed with other people—”

“Is it us, then? Is it me?”

Charlie is glad for the darkness, because she’s sure whatever sad and sorry look Aerith has on her face would be enough to break her heart. “No,” she’s forced to answer, even though Aerith has just about hit the nail on the head. “Look, we can share the bed tonight, all right? Just stop asking questions, please.”

She can feel Aerith getting into the small bed, the mattress shifting slightly under their combined weight. Charlie’s eyes begin to adjust, just able to see the silhouette of Aerith’s narrow face. 

“How are we supposed to get to know you if you won’t let us ask questions?”

Charlie lies back on her pillow, one arm underneath her head. Judging by Aerith’s voice, she’s lying on her side. “Why do you want to get to know me?” Charlie asks, her heart racing. “We’re not friends.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” she answers. “We’re just travel companions. You’re just escorting me from one place to another, and then we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“That’s what you want?” Aerith sounds sad. Charlie suddenly feels very bad about being so harsh. They’ve been good to her, like tonight. “You never want to see us again after you get to Cosmo Canyon?”

Charlie is quiet for a moment. She isn’t going to make more of this than she should. “I’m the vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company,” she murmurs again. “Once we get to Cosmo Canyon, I’ll give you your money, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

Aerith rolls over onto her back. Charlie wonders if she should have just feigned sleep. At least Aerith isn’t wary about sharing a bed with her. 

“You didn’t have to get us out of Corel Prison, you know,” Aerith whispers. “But you did.”

“It was nothing. I needed you guys, and you were all innocent.”

“You could have left us there and called the Turks, but you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t ready to go back to Midgar.”

“You cared about us enough to come back.”

Charlie doesn’t answer. Why had she gone back for them? Yes, because she couldn’t have made it to Cosmo Canyon on her own. They could have rotted down there if she could have made the journey by herself. It’s not like she would have cared. 

“Would you just ask a question and get on with it?” Charlie asks, closing her eyes. Her left elbow brushes lightly against Aerith’s. The simple contact after days of feeling ostracized and unwanted leaves her breathless. “If you want to know me so well.”

Aerith doesn’t hesitate, completely unabashed. “What do you remember of your mother?”

“No.”

Humming, Aerith tries again. “You said you were practically raised by the Turks.”

“That’s not a question.”

“I can make it one, if that would make you happy.”

Charlie is quiet again for a long time. She wonders if Aerith will eventually just fall asleep if she stays quiet long enough. “My father was a very busy man,” she hears herself saying, the words pulled from her by some outside force. “He didn’t have much time for his children.”

_For me, at least,_ she thinks. Father had plenty of time to spend grooming Rufus for the vice presidency. 

“Who was your favorite?”

Charlie rolls onto her side again, propping herself up with her elbow. “That’s two questions.” 

She can _hear_ Aerith smiling when she says, “You must have had a favorite.”

She scoffs softly, a short little exhale through her nose. “I did,” she admits, “and then he passed me off to his protégé and disappeared.”

“His protégé?”

“Tseng. And that was three questions.” Charlie puts her back to Aerith. “I think I’m going to sleep now.”

* * *

A few of the children from the Leaf House are able to guide him to the secluded cottage deep within the Sector Five slums. 

Reeve tips them extra for the guided tour, making them all smile as they leave him at the wooden stairs that will take him into the garden proper. 

_The garden._

He hasn’t seen flowers like this in . . . well, since he was a child, living in the countryside with his parents. Once they had come to Midgar, the flowers and plant life had died out quick enough with the introduction of his reactors. They’re a rare commodity in Midgar now, and yet here are hundreds of flowers before his very eyes, blooming around a three-story home that's only slightly in shambles, the soft crashing of a polluted waterfall blocking out the sounds of the slums.

Approaching the front door, with its narrow windows looking in on a kitchen table and very old television set, Reeve knocks softly and holds his breath. 

A woman’s face appears in the window seconds later, and upon opening the door for him, Reeve notices that she’s much older than he assumed when looking through the dirty window at her. 

There are deep lines at her eyes and on her forehead, and she has the appearance of a woman who has undergone a severe amount of stress in a very short period of time. Her skin is waxy and her eyes are hollow, but there’s still a defiance to her, especially after her eyes take in his clean cut appearance very critically. 

“Are you Elmyra?”

“Who are you?” she asks sharply, glancing over her shoulder at the stairs behind her. 

“May I come in?”

“Who are you?” the woman asks again, blocking the doorway. “Are you with _them?_ ”

Reeve looks down at himself, brushing off the front of his dark suit jacket. “I’m not a Turk, if that’s what you mean.”

“But you’re Shinra?”

“Yes, but I—”

Elmyra (or who he assumes is Elmyra) shuts the door in his face and he hears the unmistakable clicking of a lock. “Leave me _alone!_ ” she shouts through the door. “Hasn’t Shinra done _enough!_ ”

“I only want to help!” he replies desperately, moving closer to the window. 

“Why would _Shinra_ want to help _me?_ ” 

“Not Shinra,” he answers quickly, just to make sure that fact is established right away. “Me.” 

He wonders what would happen if he just kicked the door in. 

“I know about Marlene,” Reeve sighs, running a hand through his hair. Does he not look kind enough? Does he not sound sincere enough? “If you let me in, I can explain everything.”

Her face pales at the mention of Marlene. “What do you want? What can we do to make you leave us alone? She’s done nothing—she’s just a little girl—”

“I want to pay for you to leave the city,” he says through the door, hoping no one is eavesdropping. “I only want to ensure your safety, and Marlene’s.”

“On what conditions?”

“No conditions,” he says desperately. “Please let me in, and I’ll explain everything.”

It takes Elmyra a moment, but she does open the door for him in the end. Before letting him cross inside, she murmurs, “You’re Shinra. You must have _some_ information about my daughter. Aerith. Do you know her?”

Reeve nods slightly. “Let’s talk, shall we?”


	38. Chapter 38

“We’ll have to make the rest of the trip on foot,” Cloud says, putting the buggy into park in a nice secluded space of the dense forest that surrounds Gongaga. “We should bring our gear, just in case.”

The small, backwater village of Gongaga is nestled in the shadow of the ruins of the reactor that once breathed life into the quiet and somber atmosphere that awaits them now. 

So near to the southern coast, and with the canopy trees trapping the heat in with them, the air is sticky and thick with humidity. Even the ground is sticky, her boots making a vulgar sucking sound whenever she takes a step forward. Red’s paws get stuck often, and the bottom half of Cait Sith’s moogle is soon turned from white to brown, splashing up mud in every direction each time his fat feet land. 

Cloud warns them of poisonous frogs that may dart out to surprise them, and the sleeve of Charlie’s jacket tears when it gets caught on a thornbush, but no monsters leap out to disturb them, probably because of all the noise they make while traversing the forest. They probably sound like a pack of monsters themselves with all the moaning and groaning they’re doing.

Charlie isn’t sure how long they’ve been walking when they all freeze at the sound of a helicopter nearby. Her heart stops, and she looks up at the sky with a sharp intake of breath, able to make out a black helicopter buzzing towards their end goal.

“That’s a Shinra chopper,” she tells her party, wondering if it’s still a good idea to continue. Anyone could be aboard that helicopter—it could be a Turk, or several of them, but it could be someone who really hates her, too, like Heidegger or Scarlet. It could be Rufus. “Do you think they know we’re here? Do you think they saw the buggy?”

“A Shinra chopper?” Barret snaps, looking up to follow its progress, but it’s quickly swallowed by the tree leaves, and eventually, the sound dies out, as well. “The hell is a Shinra chopper doin’ here? What’d you tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them anything! How would I?” Charlie protests. “I’m the one _hiding_ from Shinra, remember? Maybe we should stop here and make for Gongaga under the cover of darkness.”

“It could just be a coincidence,” Cait Sith suggests, his moogle hopping up to Charlie’s side to come to her defense once again. “Or it could be possible they heard about the events at the Gold Saucer, and Dio told them Sephiroth was headed this way.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like they saw us,” Tifa says, shielding her eyes from the blazing and burning sun. “Let’s keep going for now. There’s no use turning back, not when we’re this close, and we can’t rest here. It’s too dangerous.”

“We can take ‘em,” Yuffie adds confidently, looking too eager for a fight. “Monsters _or_ Shinra. _Especially_ Shinra.”

“ _If_ it comes down to that,” Cloud says, putting his hands on his hips. The Buster Sword rests at his back, mocking her as the sun hits it just right and makes it shine. “We don’t want a repeat of the Gold Saucer. Let’s just get in, ask around, and get out.”

“Maybe only a few of us should go into the village, then,” Aerith says, looking around at her friends. Her mousy brown hair sticks to her cheeks, and she’s breathing rather heavily. “If we all show up at once, it might seem suspicious.” 

Cloud nods in agreement. “All right. Let’s keep going. We might get lucky, and the chopper might leave without realizing we’re here.”

Cloud leads them without complaint. Barret is starting to slow his pace, muttering under his breath to himself, and Red XIII pants and drags his feet. Even Yuffie is too tired to complain, picking up her feet after having tripped over a root and skinned her knee earlier. 

It’s another mile until they reach a dirt road—one of the twisting pathways leads towards the reactor, what’s left of it peeking up above the treeline, and the other pathway leads, presumably, towards the village. The tall grass on either side of the pathway sways in the breeze, though the gentle wind does little to cool her. It’s like being hit in the face with hot air from an oven, uncomfortable and suffocating. 

“Stop,” Cloud suddenly says, before picking a pathway. He holds up a hand to stop them, then places a finger to his lips to shush them. 

Charlie, her curiosity piqued and slightly nervous, shuffles up to his side and listens. She can feel Aerith and Tifa hovering behind them, and Red’s fur tickles her exposed ankle, making her think there’s insects crawling on her skin. 

“. . . who do you like?”

Charlie stops brushing at her ankle and gives Cloud a bewildered look, lowering her foot back to the ground. She _knows_ that voice, could place that voice _anywhere_ , has lived the last decade of her life hearing that voice flirt with her and tease her and snap at her.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no,_ she thinks, _not now, not yet, not before I get to Cosmo Canyon._

“What are you getting so embarrassed about?” Reno laughs, and Charlie can hardly breathe. She was so close. They were going to go to Cosmo Canyon after leaving here. She was going to see her mother again. Why is her heart beating so fast again? Why can’t she breathe? “C’mon, just tell me. Tell me who you like.”

“Tifa,” comes Rude’s voice after a moment. 

Cloud gives her a rather unamused look, but it’s not like she forced Rude to give that answer. She shrugs, widening her eyes at him before listening again.

“Poor Elena,” Reno says again, and there’s something mocking about the way he chuckles afterwards. “I thought you guys liked each other.”

 _Is this what Turks talk about when they can spare time to gossip?_ All right, she’s not really surprised that Reno and Rude are gossiping. Charlie’s just as guilty as they are, but at least she knows there’s a time and place for it. 

“No, Elena likes Tseng.”

Reno hums. “Huh. I thought Tseng liked that Ancient.”

“I think Tseng likes Charlie.”

“ _Charlie!_ ” Reno scoffs, as if the idea is too ridiculous for him to consider. Is it so unbelievable that someone might have a crush on her? “Should’a known.”

Charlie blushes heatedly as everyone turns to look at her. She purses her lips and tries to pretend she doesn’t feel everyone’s eyes on the back of her neck. 

“She’s all right, I guess,” Reno continues, only causing Charlie to blush harder. “She’s got a good body and her face is cute, but she looks too much like her brother. I don’t know that I could fuck her and look at her face at the same time.” 

Tears borne of pure humiliation well up painfully in her eyes. Her face feels like it’s on fire. She could wring Reno’s neck right now. 

“And she’s always yammering on about somethin’ or other. Dunno what there is for Tseng to like about her other than her looks, honestly. She’s a spoiled little brat that doesn’t know when to shut up.” Charlie can almost picture him digging his hands into his pockets, trying to act casual. 

“She’s smart,” Rude supplies after needing a minute to think about it. “And Tseng says she isn’t so bad. It’s just you that she hates.”

 _Is that my redeeming quality?_ she thinks bitterly. _I’m smart?_

“Oh, _come on_ , partner, she ain’t that special. People overuse the word ‘genius’ these days, you know? Anyway, it’s pretty obvious the both of them are just projecting onto each other.”

“Projecting?” Rude asks, sounding almost skeptical. 

“C’mon, man, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed,” Reno snorts, lowering his voice, but not low enough that Charlie can’t hear every word just fine. “You know how close the both of them were to Veld.”

Charlie looks down at her feet, feeling hot tears of frustration running down her cheeks. She wipes angrily at them, furious that Reno would even suggest something so insulting, not to mention everything else he said about her. How _dare_ he bring up Veld? Who gave him the _right?_

“I think she’s all right,” Rude says again after a minute. “She doesn’t talk as much as she used to.”

“I don’t think you talk too much,” Cait Sith whispers from directly over her right shoulder. 

“Shut up,” Charlie snaps quietly. “I don’t need validation from a toy cat.”

“What the hell are they talking about?” Barret asks, trying to peek around the corner, his progress blocked by the rest of his friends. “What’s goin’ on? We moving or what?”

“It’s me they’re after,” Charlie tells Cloud, making her decision right then and there. “If I go with them, they’ll leave you alone, and you can continue on to Gongaga.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Cloud reminds her firmly, reaching behind him to take hold of his sword. “The deal was Cosmo Canyon.”

“Don’t you want to find Sephiroth?” she asks, hating herself for looking so vulnerable and tearful. It’s embarrassing, painfully so. She can’t remember the last time she’s felt this way. “I’ll chase them off, don’t worry. And if I manage to shake them off, I’ll meet you guys at the buggy, okay? And if I don’t, then just leave without me.”

“We’re not going to let you give yourself up,” Aerith insists, and when Charlie turns around to face her, she’s holding her staff in both hands, as ready as Yuffie is for a fight. “Someone’s waiting for you in Cosmo Canyon, Charlie.”

“I . . .” As touched as she is by their willingness to defend her, Charlie doesn’t want to make this any harder than it has to be. Plus, she can outrun the Turks, can’t she? How hard could it be to lose them in such a thick forest? If she could climb a tree and wait it out, she might be able to make it back to the buggy in time . . . if she can find her way again without help. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not them, and not you.”

“What’s going on?” Barret asks again, unable to hear their whispering. He sounds irritable now. “Who’s over there? The Turks? What’re they talkin’ ‘bout?”

“It’s stupid,” comes another voice from behind them, not one of their companions voices. “They’re always talking about the girls they like or don’t like, but Tseng is different.” Charlie and Elena meet eyes for a split second, and Elena nearly jumps six feet off the ground. “ _Miss Shinra!_ You’re here!”

She darts off, and Cloud pulls the sword off his back, running after her. Charlie calls after him, but follows all the same, her hands trembling. Is she going to allow herself to be brought back to Midgar just to buy _Avalanche_ some time? 

“Elena, go tell the director,” Reno instructs her as Cloud, Aerith, and Tifa step in front of Charlie. 

Yuffie, Red, and Barret back them up, while Cait Sith wraps tiny fingers around Charlie’s arm, pulling her away from the fresh battleground. Charlie doesn’t like the way Cloud holds Angeal’s sword to Reno. If Reno and Rude are anything, it’s overconfident, and that overconfidence will certainly destroy them among Charlie’s new partners. They’re severely outnumbered, and yet look as smug as ever. 

Smirking at them all, Reno holds his arms out in a very welcoming way. “Don’t be stupid. Just give us the vice president, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Charlie’s with us,” Aerith tells him with a frown. 

“Is that how it is, Charlie?” Reno calls out to her, tapping his fancy new Electro-Mag rod against his shoulder. He looks at her through the crowd of people willing to defend her. “Gonna introduce me to your new cat friend, princess? Kinda cute, don’t you think?”

“Leave us alone,” she shouts back, tearing her arm out of Cait Sith’s grip. “Let us pass, Reno, or it’ll mean trouble for you. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“No can do, Charlie,” he sighs, as if a fight isn’t the very thing he wants. “We have orders to bring you back to Midgar, and you’re comin’ with us one way or another, so we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way.”

Aerith shrugs her shoulders. “Guess we choose the hard way, then.”

“Don’t go easy on ‘em, partner,” Reno grips the rod tighter, glancing sideways at his friend. “Not even the girls.”

“I’ll do my job,” Rude says.

“Good. Charlie loves a hero.” Reno snickers. “Don’t you, princess?”

Charlie screams as Reno and Rude dash towards Cloud, Aerith, and Tifa. It all happens so quickly, and soon the air is filled with taunts and grunts and the sharp smacking of skin hitting skin and the ringing clangs of Cloud’s sword against Reno’s rod. The very air seems to vibrate with the power surging from Aerith’s staff, and even with her visible chest wound, Tifa’s bottom half moves as quick as ever, kicking hard at their lower legs and stomachs. 

Dust is kicked up underneath their feet, and in all of the confusion, Charlie breaks free of her protectors and darts off into the trees while Reno and Rude are disoriented, receiving a smackdown from her replacement bodyguards. 

“Charlie, _no!_ ” Cait Sith shouts, and Charlie can hear Barret, Yuffie, and Red calling her back, as well, but it’s too late. 

Panting, she barrels through the forest, her clothes catching on branches and brambles, sprinting through the foliage with no idea where her route will take her. But she can hear Reno shouting from behind her, and soon the heavy footfalls of he and Rude can be heard gaining on her from behind.

“ _Charlie!_ ” Reno shouts, his echo causing several birds to fly away, cawing. He sounds angry now, and there’s nothing good about an angry Turk. “Don’t make me hurt you!”

She continues to run, unable to see through the growth ahead of her, fearing that every step she takes will cause her pain or harm. She fears that she’ll misstep and go tumbling off the side of a cliff, or that she’ll run right into a thick tree trunk. She can hear the rumbling of another helicopter nearby. 

She runs until her legs are burning (it happens quickly, given all the walking she’d been doing earlier), and it’s painful to continue, and the wind whistles in her ears and her shirt clings to her sweaty skin, the hair at the back of her neck completely soaked. 

If she could just find her way back to the buggy. It’s far enough away that Reno and Rude might give up the search and try again another time. How had they known she was here? How had they known they were headed to Gongaga?

She should have given Red a message for him to pass onto her mother. 

“ _Charlie, let’s go!_ ” Reno shouts again, but this time, she can’t quite tell where his voice is coming from. She thinks she’s already passed that fallen tree trunk. “I’m not in the mood to dick around today!”

Her heart feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest, and she leaps gracefully over the downed tree at the very last second, only to leap right into someone, her leg tangling with another long leg that impedes her next step. Her momentum sends them both crashing to the ground, rolling over each other as her earrings catch in his long hair, tugging painfully at her earlobes. 

She lands on top of him, and the moment she hears the breath leave him with a loud gasp, Charlie springs to her feet, intending to keep running. Tseng reaches out quickly enough to grab her ankle, and she falls face forward again, landing hard with a grunt. 

“ _No!_ ” she screams, kicking him off and crawling away. “Get away from me!”

“Charlotte—” He’s suddenly on top of her, pressing her into the soft earth and holding her wrists behind her back, his knee digging painfully into her spine—“I’m trying to help you—”

She kicks with her freed legs, but she can’t reach him. “Get off of me!”

“Stop struggling, or I’m going to have to tie your hands.”

“Fine, fine,” Charlie huffs, unsure if she’s even able to run any further. With her cheek against the muddy ground, she feels the pressure leave her back, and Tseng pulls her to her feet by her upper arms. 

Tseng releases her to brush the front of his muddy pants off, and Charlie takes advantage of his temporary distraction. She sprints away from him once more, but only goes a few feet until she’s faced with a rock cliff. She curses quietly, pressing her back flat to the sheet rock and drawing the gun from her holster.

“Stop! Don’t come any closer!” she warns Tseng as he approaches. He doesn’t even look surprised when she aims it at him, cocked and ready. “I’ll shoot!”

He must be either suicidal or overconfident to not even bat an eye at her warning. There’s a slight scowl on Tseng’s face (she’s _really_ done it now), and he snatches the gun right out of her trembling hand, letting the clip fall dramatically to the ground before tossing the gun aside uselessly.

“Are you finished?” he asks flatly. “There’s nowhere for you to run now, Charlotte. I’m taking you back to Midgar.”

Charlie refuses to move. She digs her heels into the ground, lifts her chin into the air, and watches anger flash in Tseng’s dark eyes. He’s never been angry with her before, not really. It frightens her more than she would ever admit. She knows very well what he’s capable of.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

She knows that Tseng has her cornered, and with three other Turks lingering nearby, Charlie knows escape is futile. 

_I was so close,_ she thinks. 

“How did you know I was here?” she asks, his hand resting between her shoulder blades to give her a gentle push forward, just to get her moving. “Did Dio tell you?”

“Dio?”

Charlie frowns, glancing up at him. His eyebrows are knitted together, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Never mind,” she mutters. She considers making another run for it, but doesn’t want to end up with her hands tied behind her back like some common criminal. 

“You won’t make it ten feet if you try to run again,” Tseng suddenly says, and Charlie blushes, wondering if she said the words out loud instead of in her head. “I’m going to bring you to Reno. He’s going to take you back to Midgar.”

“No,” she snaps. “I’m not going _anywhere_ with Reno.”

“You’re not coming with me. I’m escorting one of the directors today.”

Her breath hitches. He’s left it vague on purpose. He knows what he’s doing. “Is Reeve here? Is he okay? Has anything happened to him?”

“Director Tuesti is perfectly fine, but it’s not him that’s with me today. I’ll speak with Reno before you leave. Stop here.” Tseng catches her by the wrist to stop her, holding both hands behind her back and wrapping rope around them.

“Scared I’ll jump out of the helicopter?” The rope is loose around her wrists. She could probably slip out of it if she tried. 

“It’s solely for appearances, in case the madam director is waiting.”

She almost cries at this revelation. It would have been sweet to see Reeve again. 

* * *

Tifa is the first to speak up about it, while they’re all seated around a campfire on the outskirts of the Gongaga forest, or so they’ve named it. “Someone should go back for her. She might be in danger.”

“She left of her own damn accord,” Barret reminds her firmly. “If she had just stuck around, those suits wouldn’t have gotten hold of her.”

“She tried to draw them off us,” Aerith chides them. “She only wanted to help, and she _did_ get us out of Corel Prison.”

“We could have gotten out without her, too.” Barret scoffs, leaning back against the trunk of a tree and closing his eyes, staring up at the night sky. “She ain’t a priority. She’s back where she belongs, and we only wasted time bringin’ her along.”

“We never should have brought on the _vice president_ of _Shinra_ in the first place!” Yuffie argues, completely unbothered by Charlie’s absence. “She was probably the one who told the Turks to come to Gongaga, anyway. Who else would have done that?”

“She wanted to go to Cosmo Canyon,” Cloud says, shushing Yuffie with a look that brooks no further argument. “She was scared. She didn’t want to go back to Midgar.”

“You sure that her mom is at Cosmo Canyon?” he asks Red through Cait Sith, his eyes burning from staring through a screen, but it’s better than screwing up his face and feeling his brain throb painfully as he does it that way. “I mean, are you sure it was the same woman in the picture Charlie showed you?”

“Positive,” Red replies, slightly defensively. “I would recognize that woman anywhere.”

“Is she alive?” 

Red turns to look Cait Sith full in the face. “She was alive when I was captured, if you could call it that. Her mind was gone by that point.” He pauses, lowering his head to the ground and waving his flaming tail back and forth. “That was one year ago, or close enough. If she isn’t returned to the planet by now, then I would think it might be kinder to give her the gift of mercy soon, or at least, before Charlotte is forced to see what her mother has become.”

Tifa touches the bandage over her chest. “It doesn’t feel right,” she says, “leaving her behind.”

“She didn’t give a damn ‘bout the planet, and she didn’t give a damn ‘bout Sephiroth, even after he murdered her daddy,” Barret continues, still resting with his eyes closed, but certainly not any closer to sleep. “Let her go, Tifa. She didn’t care ‘bout you. She wouldn’t go back for you, if you were in her place.”

“You don’t know that,” Aerith counters, jumping quickly to Charlie’s defense. “She might.”

“She _might_ isn’t the same as she _would._ ”

Reeve wants to tell them that, in all seriousness, Charlie would very probably go back for any of them. After all, she had saved them from rotting in Corel Prison, and she had run away to save them trouble with the Turks. 

She had run down to the Sector Seven slums to save those people, as well, people she didn’t even know, people who hated her, people who didn’t care if she lived or died that night. 

But he doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t want to bring any undue attention to Cait Sith’s affectionate nature towards Charlie. He can’t afford to slip up now, before they reach Cosmo Canyon. 

He has to see Charlie’s mother for himself, even if it is through the eyes of a toy.

* * *

He looks up into the rearview mirror, adjusting it slightly so he’s able to see Marlene’s face. She’s been looking down into her lap the entire ride, holding a stuffed bear to her chest with all the strength in her little arms. 

“Marlene, look,” Elmyra says cheerfully, pointing out the passenger side window at a small pond in the distance. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Yeah,” Marlene answers dejectedly, not even bothering to look out the window.

“Do you want to stop for a little bit?” Reeve asks, slowing the car down. The country road that leads to Kalm is a bit rougher than the paved expressway that would bring them there quicker, but he had decided on a subtler route, relying on an old map that was shoved in the glovebox of the Shinra car. They’ve encountered very little traffic so far. “We could pull over and take a break if you need to stretch your legs. We can go look at the pond.”

“No,” she says again.

“Would you like to listen to the radio?”

Marlene meets his eyes for a second in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are full of tears, but she nods slightly. 

“All right.” He flips the radio on and finds a station that isn’t complete static. 

“Marlene,” Elmyra begins again, turning in her seat to face the girl in the back as they pass the pond, “the director said he’s going to hire a tutor for you when we get settled in. Would you like that?”

She shrugs her shoulders. 

Elmyra smiles warmly, reaching out to pat Marlene on the knee. “Won’t your dad be so surprised when he comes home to find out how smart you’d gotten while he was away?” 

Reeve glances up again. His eyes have been flicking between the road ahead of him and the rearview mirror every few seconds, making sure no one is following them, making sure Marlene isn’t crying, making sure he’s taken the right roads. 

For the first time, Marlene offers a small smile, nodding her head with a little more enthusiasm. She leans forward to speak to him. “Are there going to be other kids where we go?” 

“I’m sure there will be,” he assures her, trying to give her his kindest smile. “Kalm is a much quieter town than Midgar. I’m certain you’ll come to love it.”

“Are you excited to see our new home?” Elmyra asks, facing forward again and looking a bit more tired. 

“I . . .” Marlene pauses, leaning back in her seat and holding her bear to her chest again. “I miss my old home. Seventh Heaven.”

Her words have a powerful effect on him. Reeve almost crashes the goddamn car at the very thought of the Sector Seven plate dropping, and his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel, cold sweat forming at the back of his neck and hairline. The car swerves, but he’s able to snap out of it relatively quickly, and no one asks any questions. 

Three days. 

It’s been three days since Charlie was brought back to Shinra Headquarters, and three times he’s been denied the right to see her. 

Instead of being released back to her apartment, Rufus had taken it upon himself to keep her locked in the Shinra Building, but had assured Reeve that she was, in no way, being treated like a common prisoner. He promised that Charlie had everything she would require to live comfortably, but had failed to tell Reeve _when_ she would be released at all. 

After asking to see her once again this morning and being denied, Reeve didn’t trust himself to remain in the city any longer. He was sure to do something stupid, and he couldn’t bear to think about what might happen to her because of his own unwillingness to help her, to see her safe to Cosmo Canyon. 

So he had ventured to the Sector Five slums, urged Elmyra and Marlene to pack their few possessions, took a car from the Shinra garage, and headed out of Midgar for Kalm, trying not to remember the fear Charlie had shown at the idea of being handled by the Turks, people she normally trusts with her life. 

The three of them arrive at Kalm as the sun begins to set, and Reeve finds that the sight of the quaint and quiet mining town leaves him feeling even more guilt-ridden. He thinks of Reno’s accusations about Charlie and Tseng, and then he thinks about Veld, and about the arm he had lost because of this town, the town that had been rebuilt after a horrible disaster struck innocent people.

The house is towards the back of town. He’s rather pleased that it’s so nice, not having seen it before making the deal. The inside is already furnished, as requested, and the kitchen is fully stocked. 

There are two stories and three bedrooms, and Elmyra encourages Marlene to take her things upstairs and pick out a bedroom for herself. The sight of the interior seems to have brightened the little girl’s spirits somewhat, and she moves quickly up the wooden stairs and out of sight. 

“If you have need of anything, please call me,” Reeve reminds her. He had bought himself and Elmyra new phones for this very purpose, not wanting anyone to overhear a conversation with the Ancient’s mother over his possibly-bugged phone. “I’ll try to stop by when I can, just to check-in.”

“You’re not leaving now, are you? We’ve just arrived,” Elmyra protests, already much kinder towards him than when he first knocked on her door. “At least rest a little, Director. It’s not safe to drive the back roads alone at night.”

“No, I’m only going to the inn.” Reeve gives her a weary smile. “I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” 

As he goes to leave, the car unloaded and very empty, Elmyra calls for him, his first name. It gives him pause, and he looks over his shoulder at her. “Take care of my daughter,” she pleads. 

He can’t promise that, but he can’t walk away without at least offering her some comfort. So he nods, and leaves it at that.


	39. Chapter 39

_Rufus will not execute me._

She has to believe that, no matter how much doubt surrounds the idea. She has to believe that her brother has other plans for her. If he wanted everything to go back to normal, he would have let her go home instead of locking her in a cell in the Shinra Building, and if he wanted to execute her, why would he have gone through all the trouble of providing her somewhere comfortable to stay?

_Unless he’s just trying to lull me into a false sense of security._

Truthfully, it is a comfortable cell, one that’s furnished with handsome and brand new furniture, one large and open room with a bathroom far nicer than the metal pans that are given to low-level prisoners. 

A soft bed is tucked into the corner, she’s been provided books to read (not that she wants to read any of them) and new clothes to wear (not like they’re very nice clothes), there’s a pitcher of water and a few glasses on her nightstand, but there are no windows or natural light, and cameras are watching her from every corner, red lights blinking to let her know _someone_ is watching.

The only place she can find privacy is in the bathroom, where she locks herself inside to cry quietly in bursts, always running the shower to muffle her sobs and never staying inside for longer than necessary to avoid being caught.

Upon first being brought to her cell, Charlie sleeps for hours. She isn’t certain how long, of course, given that there are no clocks inside the room, nor can she see what the sky looks like. All she knows is that she wakes disoriented, and there’s a cold plate of food on a round table with two chairs sitting opposite each other.

She refuses to eat the food. That will be her first act of disobedience and rebellion. She will not go quietly. If Rufus does plan on killing her, she will go kicking and screaming to the block, never once giving in. She will not give her brother the satisfaction of winning.

She expects someone to come take the plate away and replace it with a fresh meal, but after five hours of nothing, no visitors or guards or friendly faces, Charlie falls back asleep, hoping that she wakes up at a normal hour to catch whoever it is bringing her food. 

The next day, a guard (wearing a helmet to hide his face) enters the cell to take her dinner away and give her breakfast. It isn’t prison food, but something fresh and colorful and sweet. Her stomach growls, but she refuses to acknowledge the food. 

“I want to talk to Rufus,” she tells the guard, who does a very fine job at pretending she isn’t in the room. “I want to speak to the president. Bring him to me.”

The guard doesn’t answer.

“Are you deaf, or just stupid?” she snaps at him, craning her neck out to put her face closer to his. “Your vice president is speaking to you, and I demand that you bring me my brother _now!_ ”

But no matter how much she begs, the guard does not relent, nor does the guard that brings her lunch, or the one that brings her dinner. They are immune to her curses and threats and anger, and being ignored by _infantrymen_ doesn’t sit well with her.

The next day she tries a different tack. 

“Surely you must know what’s happened to Reeve?” she begs the breakfast guard, trying to seem like the innocent little girl that Veld would probably still believe her to be. “Please, tell me. Tell me he’s all right. Tell me he’s safe. Let me see him, just the once, please. Let me just see him again.”

“You know we’re going to be married soon,” she tells the lunch guard desperately, her hands clasped together as if in prayer, her face inches from the helmet that hides his eyes. “I love him. I need him. I need to see him, to make sure he’s okay. Please, I’m begging you, let me see Reeve.”

By dinner, Charlie knows it is hopeless, but she tries again anyway. “Will you let him know I’m asking for him? Will you let him know that I love him? Please, tell him I’m thinking about him and let me know if he’s okay. Please? Please, I want to talk to Reeve. Don’t let him think I’ve forgotten about him.”

But all of her pleas fall on deaf ears, and the combined hunger and stress and loneliness and fury all manifest in a blind rage. 

The following day, Charlie destroys everything she can. She flips the table and throws the chairs and food against the walls, she pours out the water in her pitcher onto the carpet and throws it and the glasses so hard against the ground that they shatter. She pulls all the sheets and blankets off her bed, throws every book against the wall, screaming through gritted teeth because she doesn’t know what to do anymore. 

When a guard comes to refill her water pitcher, she upends it over his head the moment he turns around, causing him to cough and splutter and look at her incredulously, his lips slightly parted in surprise. “Bring me my brother,” she commands him, but her brother never comes. 

On the fourth day (it might be the fifth, or the sixth, or the seventh, but it’s hard to tell with how much she’s been sleeping), the hunger begins to _hurt_. Charlie remembers what Barret had told her, about how sometimes you had to just sleep it off, and she tries, but it’s no use. 

She doesn’t want to eat, not wanting to damage her pride, but she needs something to change. She can’t go on like this, counting the hours and days by the meals her silent guards bring her, not knowing what’s going on outside the four walls that trap her within the heart of the Shinra Building. 

Has Avalanche been captured? No, she thinks. Someone would have come in and told her. Rufus would have come to rub it in her face.

Is Reeve all right? Yes, she thinks. Someone would have come in and told her. Tseng would not let anything happen to Reeve and keep it from her.

Does Rufus still love her? Does he still care? Is he sorry for what he did to her? Maybe, she thinks, but Rufus hasn’t come in to talk to her yet, and it’s driving her insane. 

“Please,” she rasps at the guard who brings her breakfast one morning. She feels too weak to get out of bed. “Please, bring Tseng to me. Tell him I need him, please. Tell him I want to see him. I want to talk to him.”

She doesn’t expect him to come. No one that she’s asked for has come yet. 

She doesn’t even think that Tseng is in Midgar at all, but that evening, he enters her cell with another guard, holding two plates full of food in both hands. The guard takes away Charlie’s untouched lunch and leaves them alone in the room together. 

She watches the Turk from her bed, watches as he places the plates on opposite sides of the table where she would normally eat her meals. He carries on as if nothing is amiss, reminding her of all those years ago, when the two of them had shared cheap dinners in the formal dining room of her childhood home.

Neither of them were able to cook (Charlie at all, Tseng not very well), and they had mostly survived those days spent alone off boxed food and whatever they could get from nearby restaurants. 

She remembers how crowded the dining room table would get with all of the food Charlie wanted, and sometimes when Veld would look down at his plate, she would pull faces across the table at Tseng to make him laugh, always receiving a half-hearted scolding from Veld when he caught her with her tongue out. 

But for some reason, now, the very sight of him makes her angry. He had only come to her after she _begged_ for him, and would not have come any sooner. He wanted her to be _desperate_ before coming to talk to her, afraid and confused and full of questions that he likely won’t answer right away, and she especially hates that he came to see her before Rufus. 

She _hates_ him, and hates the smug little way he sets the table for them just like she’s watched him do a hundred times before, like they’re about to have dinner in the villa instead of in a cell. 

He’s so methodical and meticulous, even when folding the napkins properly and arranging the silverware he had been carrying between his fingers like a cigarette. He’s so unbothered and detached, seemingly uncaring that Charlie has been treated so poorly over the last few days. 

Doesn’t that go against everything he’s ever claimed to her face?

 _It’s just a job to him,_ she reminds herself. _I mean nothing to him._

“Sit down,” Tseng insists gently, glancing sideways at her as if just now noticing she’s there. He pulls out the chair for her before sitting in his own and placing his napkin atop one of his thighs. “If you continue to starve yourself, we’ll have no choice but to bring you to the medical ward and feed you with your arms strapped to a bed.”

Charlie isn’t about to rise to the bait. If Tseng thinks to get information out of her by threatening her, she’s not going to make it easy. She’s going to make this as difficult as possible for him, primarily due to spite. It’s petty, and maybe it’s childish, but she wants him to know that she will not break. 

She is not afraid of him like his other victims typically are, and she knows that he will not have the pleasure of torturing her to make it any easier. At least she can take solace in the fact that her interrogation will not be a violent one.

She stands and walks over to the open chair, wearing a plain cotton dress that had been provided to her upon her arrival. It feels good not to be wearing tight-fitting pants for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Charlie sits up straight in her chair, resolving not to touch her food no matter how hungry she is, looking at him with a ferocity that would burn right through most men. But not Tseng.

She has to make a point. 

“Eat,” he insists again, this time meeting her eyes to impress his point. His tone has hardened, and he continues to eat small bites of his dinner off his fork as if expecting them to enjoy the quiet moment together. 

Inhaling deeply, Charlie slowly pushes her plate further and further to the side of the table, wondering if Tseng will attempt to stop her. He does no such thing, however, and watches as her dinner topples from the table to the ground, spilling vegetables and noodles all over the carpeted floor. 

They look at each other for a long time, not daring to give anything away with the smallest tic or change of expression. He’s painfully unamused, but Charlie isn’t going to stop now. 

She reaches across from her and does the same to Tseng’s plate, all while he keeps his fork in hand. She lets his dinner fall to the floor, as well, clattering against her own discarded plate and sending food scattering around their feet. 

“And here I thought we might have a nice dinner together,” he says slowly, clearly more irritated than he’s let on. Tseng lowers his fork and leans in towards her when she doesn’t respond, lowering his voice. “Let me tell you something, Charlotte. Frankly, you’ve put me in a very difficult position. I want to help you, but I can’t do anything of the sort if you don’t cooperate and tell me what’s going on.”

Charlie doesn’t answer and doesn’t look away. The corners of Tseng’s lips twitch. 

“I could do this all day, Charlotte,” he tells her again. “And bad behavior will not be rewarded. I have all the time in the world, but you must be growing very hungry, and very tired of the inside of your cell.” His eyes flick to the plates on the ground and the food spilled everywhere. “I’ll give you some time to think, and we’ll meet again for breakfast, yes?”

She watches him stand up and brush himself off before adjusting his cuffs and leaving the room. She almost runs after him, almost bangs on the door and begs for him to return, but she remains seated, remembering the cameras that are watching her. 

When Tseng comes back for breakfast, he acts as if last night never happened. He is prepared, however, for Charlie to push the plates off the table again, threatening to tie her to the chair if she can’t channel some table manners. 

The threat and the tone in which he issues her takes her by surprise. He sounds so like Veld in the moment that it makes her angry again. She feels eleven-years-old, being scolded by the gruff old Turk about playing with her food instead of eating it. 

“You must be very hungry, Charlotte. I know you haven’t eaten at all,” he urges, looking down at her breakfast, still untouched. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I don’t think I ask for too much.”

Charlie keeps her lips pursed, wanting to hit him right in his smug face. She hates the way one of his eyebrows arches upwards, the way the corners of his lips curl upwards at her show of defiance. He is so patient and unconcerned about leaving her for a few more hours at a time. It’s all a game to him, and he’s confident that he’ll win. 

But still, she refuses to eat, and Tseng stays until he’s finished with his own breakfast. He makes a show of it, eating very slowly to prolong the time, never asking any questions or making mention of anyone she cares about that might be worried about her. 

And when he finally finishes, he bids her good-bye and takes his plate, leaving Charlie’s behind. The moment he closes the door behind him, she throws her food at it, and the fruit smashes against the wall and door, the juice running down to the carpet, sticky and sweet.

For dinner, Tseng brings rope and lets it dangle in front of her face. “You eat tonight, or I’ll have no choice. I cannot allow you to starve yourself to death.”

So she obliges him, looking down at her dinner full of carbs and stuffing everything into her mouth as quickly as she can, until her stomach bloats painfully and she achieves the desired effect. 

Charlie vomits all over the floor at their feet, tears stinging her eyes as she coats the carpet in her sick, all to prove a point. Even when she finishes and meets Tseng’s eyes, her lips coated in saliva, she does not blush, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. 

His eyes are cold and narrowed, and it is the first sign that Charlie is breaking him. 

“It’s not me who’s sleeping here tonight,” is all he says before leaving her again, but she thinks he sounds angry when he does leave, slamming the door to her cell behind him a little harder than usual. 

It’s humiliating enough to be left in her vomit-soaked clothing, but she’s able to clean herself up, and a guard enters after she takes a shower to clean up the pile of half-digested food on the floor. 

Reno brings her breakfast the next morning, not looking at all happy with his current task. She doesn’t know how many days she’s been in her cell. It might be night for all she knows, and Reno is only serving her breakfast to mess with her. 

“Get out,” she hisses at him as he opens his mouth to speak. Charlie climbs off her bed, steps up to him, and shoves him hard in the chest. He almost loses her plate, but is able to set it down at the last minute before it spills. “Get out of here! I hate you, I _hate_ you! I don’t want to see your stupid face ever again!”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you, you know,” Reno growls at her, looking offended that she would put hands on him. “But what you did was fucking stupid, got that?”

Charlie slaps him hard across the face.

Reno’s hand jumps to his cheek, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. It’s not the first time she’s hit Reno, and it certainly won’t be the last. “Hitting me isn’t gonna change the fact that you fucked up royally, Charlie,” he scowls. “You shouldn’t have run away.”

Tears well in her eyes at the sight of him, remembering what she overheard him say. 

“You wanna know somethin’? Do you have any idea what you did to your boyfriend, huh?” Reno asks, and she reaches out to hit him again, but he catches her wrist with ease, squeezing. “He’s been moping around these fucking halls since he got back from Costa del Sol, and it’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And _you_ did that.”

“What do _you_ care about Reeve—?”

“I don’t. He’s a nice guy, but I don’t really give a shit whether you marry him or not.” Reno releases her wrist after gripping tight enough to hurt her. “But you need to open your goddamn eyes and realize that your actions have consequences. You’ve got a responsibility to—”

“Okay,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes and looking up at one of the cameras. “Hear that, Tseng? _Reno_ is going to lecture _me_ on responsibility—”

“You little brat—”

“I heard what you said about me, _asshole!_ ” Charlie continues to rage, unable to help herself. Reno won’t stop her from blowing up, but will only add fuel to the fire. She wants to explode after feeling so alone. “You _humiliated_ me in front of my—!”

Reno’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and Charlie stops talking abruptly, her breath coming raggedly. She knows she’s said too much, almost said things she doesn’t mean. 

“In front of your _what,_ Charlie?” he presses, mocking her. He scrunches his nose, looking ready to burst out into horrible, teasing laughter. “In front of your _friends?_ ”

“I hate you,” she whispers again through tears. “I hate you, and I hate that you said those things about me—”

“You’ve said worse about me, _to my face_ —”

“Is that really what you think of me? Would you talk about Rufus like that?”

Reno has the grace to blush, averting his eyes for a split second. 

“Do you not respect me?”

“Charlie, come _on!_ ” he groans, affronted. He’s mad, but not mad enough that he’s ready to walk out. They always argue, or almost always argue, and this is nothing new to Charlie. Reno will take whatever she throws at him, just like always. “I fucking love you, and you know that, and that’s why I’m here telling you what a stupid fucking thing you did when I’m not supposed to be talking to you in the first place!” 

Charlie only looks at him, frowning. He squirms under her gaze after a few seconds. He knows what he’s done. 

“Of course I’d be able to look into your face if I was fucking you,” he mutters, rolling his eyes a lot more dramatically than she did. “I was only joking.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Then what do you want me to say, Charlie? That I think you’re a goddamn genius or something? That I think you know exactly when the proper time is to shut the fuck up?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Reno doesn’t answer, but she knows he knows. 

“Don’t you _ever_ ,” she begins quietly, dangerously, “talk about my relationship with Veld or Tseng to anybody. That is _none_ of your business.” Charlie pushes him one more time and he stumbles backwards. “Get out.”

She has to wait until dinner the next evening for Tseng to return, by which time she’s decided on a brand new course of action, one that she hadn’t really wanted to turn to, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

When she hears the door to her cell opening for dinner that night, Charlie opens the door of the bathroom to reveal herself in the most dramatic fashion. Tseng lifts his eyes to look at her for a brief second, only to look at her again with a tight-lipped frown and widened eyes. 

“Is this your plan?” he asks flatly, eyes sweeping up and down her once, almost critically, like she _isn’t_ the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “You’re going to try and seduce me?” 

When she doesn’t answer, he chuckles, continuing the preparation of their dinner table. He’s brought her a salad, probably to keep her from throwing up again. 

“I suppose this means you’ll have to speak to me, at least.”

Charlie saunters over to the table, sitting down in only her bra and underwear (not the expensive and cute things she’s used to, but something plain and boring and ugly), leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. 

“Put some clothes on, Charlotte,” he instructs her coldly. “I’m not the only one able to see you right now.” Tseng glances up at one of the cameras facing them, gripping his fork a little too tight. “Are you prepared to go home? Is that what you want from me?”

 _He’s breaking,_ she thinks, so relieved with her progress that she could cry. She’s been doing a lot of that lately. 

Her own desperate voice sounds foreign to her, and it’s cool enough in her cell to cause goosebumps to rise all over her bare skin. 

“I just want to see my brother,” she confesses, the first words she’s spoken to Tseng since she first saw him . . . how many days ago was that now? She is so tired, despite all the sleep she’s been getting, and she doesn’t know that she could lift her arms above her head. “Please, I want to talk to Rufus.”

“Then _behave_ ,” Tseng tells her through gritted teeth. “What could possibly have driven you to do something so remarkably stupid? Your brother suspects you’re plotting against him, and I have made every effort to convince him otherwise, despite not having heard your own explanation yet. Have I been mistaken, Charlotte? Have I lied to the president’s face?”

 _Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte._ She’s tired of hearing her name spoken by him. _Charlotte_ is what Veld had called her, when he chose to forego _little princess_. Tseng is the only Turk that calls her by her full name now, never having bestowed upon her some sentimental little nickname.

What is she supposed to say to him? That she ran away because she was a coward? That she ran away because she knew resigning from her position was impossible? That she ran away because she was afraid that she and Reeve were keeping too many damning secrets that would destroy the both of them?

“Is Reeve all right?” she asks softly, desperate for information. 

“The director is perfectly fine, and continues to ask after you.”

“Can I see him?”

“No,” Tseng replies immediately. He has yet to touch his own food. “You may not.”

Charlie has never hated him more. “Am I still the vice president?”

“Yes.”

“Is Rufus going to execute me?”

“Maybe.” Tseng waits for a reaction, but she has none for him. She has to believe that he’s lying, that Rufus would never hurt her. Rufus _loves_ her. “That depends entirely on you and what your intentions were upon running away with the most wanted group of eco-terrorists on the planet right now.”

Charlie clamps her jaw shut. She has no idea what Tseng already knows. She has no idea where Avalanche is. She has no idea if they made it to Cosmo Canyon, or if they found anything in Gongaga relating to Sephiroth. 

“Why do you hesitate?” he asks, leaning back in his chair in an effort to appear more casual. His eyebrows knit together, his arms folding over his chest. “Don’t you trust me?”

Of course she trusts him, otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting across from him in nothing but lingerie. “This isn’t a friendly chat,” she reminds him. “You’re interrogating me.”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “If I were interrogating you, I would already have the information I wanted to begin with, and I would have gotten that information within the first day of your capture.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I’m good at my job.”

“Then prove it.”

Tseng is quiet for a moment. And then he laughs, laughter that shakes his shoulders, his long-fingered hand covering his mouth. “I’m not going to tortue you,” he finally answers, the ghost of a smile still playing at his lips when he lowers his hand. “And I’m slightly offended that you assume I would.”

_If I don’t tell him something, he’s going to leave me here again, all alone. Isn’t that torture enough?_

Charlie swallows hard. He’s left her no choice. She can’t be here another minute. She wants to see Rufus, she wants to see Reeve. She wants to go home and curl up beside the man she loves so much. She wants to beg for his forgiveness and beg him to marry her again. 

She wants to be held. She wants to be loved. 

But there is still one thing she _can_ do, that Tseng will surely allow her. 

“I want the cameras off,” she tells him, a command, an order, one that she hopes he follows. “I want it to be just us.”

Tseng taps his fingertips atop the table for a few seconds, drawing out the moment and the silence. And then, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it to his ear for a few more seconds. “Turn the cameras off,” he says, hanging up and pocketing his phone once more.

After another moment, Charlie looks up and watches all of the blinking red lights turn off on all the cameras in the cell. She can feel a lump growing in her throat, and there is no possible way for her to fend off the tears that begin to build behind her eyes. 

“Are you going to put some clothes on now?” he asks again, sounding exasperated. 

“No.”

“Fine. Have it your way.” Tseng settles into silence again, never taking his eyes off her. 

Charlie looks back at him. She’s grateful for the cameras, but she still doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want to tell him the truth, but if she lies, he’ll know. He _always_ knows. 

Finally, Tseng sighs heavily, glancing around the room. The carpet is stained, her clothes have been discarded all over the floor by the bed. “Please, eat.”

She doesn’t have the strength to refuse. She takes a single bite, only to find herself hungrier. Once she begins on her dinner, Tseng begins, as well. They both eat slowly, and Charlie wishes he had brought her something a little more filling. 

“I thought we were friends, Charlotte.”

Charlie lifts her eyes from her plate and scowls. “If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have brought me back here.”

“Why do you say that?” he asks lightly. “What was there to be gained for you by traversing the planet with a band of vigilantes?”

She hates herself. She hates herself more than she hates Tseng. “I meant to have them bring me to _you_ ,” she confesses, blushing heatedly. “I thought, with the both of you hunting Sephiroth, we’d meet along the way. I couldn’t do it alone, and I needed them to protect me until I found you.”

“And yet you were reluctant to join me when I found you near Gongaga.”

She inhales deeply. “I wasn’t ready to go back to Midgar. I wanted to go to Cosmo Canyon.”

“What’s in Cosmo Canyon?”

“My mother.”

Tseng blinks at her in reply. It’s clear that he hadn’t expected this answer from her. “Your mother? Is she alive?”

Charlie frowns. _Didn’t he know? Wouldn’t the leader of the Turks be privy to information like that about the late president’s wife?_ “I don’t know,” she answers harshly, hoping that her anger comes across very clearly. “You took me before I got there.”

He doesn’t look the least bit ashamed. “Charlotte, I need you to tell me why you left Costa del Sol. It’s just the two of us now, just like you wanted.”

She shakes her head, the hot tears filling her eyes making Tseng’s face momentarily blurry.

“Charlotte,” he says again, and it almost sounds like a warning, albeit a gentle one, “you can trust me, can’t you? I’ve been good to you, haven’t I? I’ve taken care of you, I’ve protected you, I’ve killed for you—”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“No, but it’s done now. We’ve known each other for a long time. We’ve spent a lot of time with each other, we lived together under the same roof for brief periods of time. I know everything about you. I think we can be honest with each other, don’t you?”

The tears fall in earnest now, burning down her cheeks, painfully embarrassing. She doesn’t have the strength to hit him like she wants to.

She hates the way he talks to her like she _doesn’t_ know how much he’s done for her. She hates the way he throws it all in her face, like he’s been remembering every little thing he’s ever done for her just to be able to use it to get what he wants. 

She should have known. He’s a Turk, and he’s always been a Turk. All Turks are the same, and she was stupid to ever think that true friendship with any of them was ever possible. 

“You lied to me about Angeal,” she reminds him, her voice shaky. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit affected. “You knew how I felt about him.”

“Only to spare you the burden of a heavier heart,” Tseng replies quickly. “If mistakes were made in that regard, know that those mistakes were made because I only wanted to protect you.”

“You’re a liar.”

“We’re both liars.” Tseng sits up a little straighter in his chair, placing his hands together on the table, choosing to ignore his half-eaten dinner. “It’s part of our job descriptions.”

“Well, I didn’t choose this. _You_ did.” 

“And I am very proud of the difficult sacrifices I have made in order to rise to where I am today. I have worked very hard for this, and will not shy away from my duties now just because you ask me nicely.”

It sounds mechanical and rehearsed. The thing about catching Tseng in a lie is that he’s such a competent and practiced and confident liar that it’s nearly impossible to tell when he’s doing so. But the way he speaks his confession is so jarringly awkward that it gives Charlie pause. 

“Was I ever anything more than just a job to you?” she rasps, suddenly not hungry at all. 

“I told you, a long time ago, that it was better that way.”

“Shame on me, then.”

“Just tell me the truth so we can put an end to this.”

Humiliated, Charlotte wipes at her tears again and looks into her lap, her thighs covered in goosebumps. “I was afraid,” she says, crying breathily. “I was afraid of Rufus, and I was afraid of what secrets Reeve was keeping, and I was afraid of Reeve finding out about Rufus and I. I wasn’t scheming behind my brother’s back. I only wanted you to keep me safe. I had nowhere else to go.”

“The director called me the morning after you left, you know. He said that the president had hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“He is sorry.”

“Then why hasn’t he come to say it to my face?” she asks sharply, looking up at him again. 

Tseng frowns. “The president is a busy man, and we are on the verge of making a very important discovery that has, for years, eluded your father.” 

She doesn’t care enough to ask what the discovery is. 

She can’t stop thinking about the man in front of her, and the absolute machine he is, to go through the motions with her for years without ever allowing himself to feel anything more for her than a lingering sense of obligation from the man they both loved. 

Had Reno been right? 

Of course he had been right. She’s looking into the face of the last person with real, _human_ connections to the man she loved as a father. Tseng had promised Veld he would be good to her, kind to her, that he would take care of her. 

And hadn’t she made that same promise to Veld about Tseng?

The question spills from her before she’s able to think about it. “What happened to Veld?” she whispers. 

His face hardens, and Charlie knows that she’s gone too far. She doesn’t have the right to be asking questions, not as a prisoner. 

But she _needs_ to know. She’s spent years imagining him dead, finally free from his burdens. If she could just know the truth . . .

“Please,” she begs. “Please, Tseng. I know you know what happened to him.”

He hesitates, only for a split second. “I killed him,” he answers, “and his daughter.”

The breath leaves her at once, her chest caving in, heart fluttering rapidly. She _wishes_ he had chosen to torture her over this, over confessing to this heinous crime, to this secret he’s been holding all these years. 

She looks into his eyes, trying to find some semblance of the truth. He has to be lying, he has to be lying, he has to be . . . he would never do that . . . he would never hurt Veld . . . Veld would never have let himself be put in that situation . . . Tseng loved him . . . he wouldn’t . . . 

Charlie can’t look away from him, nor can she speak or breathe or move. She’s sure there’s a permanent expression of horror painted across her face, but if Tseng feels any remorse for what he’s done, he chooses not to show it. 

This is worse— _infinitely_ worse—than seeing her father with Sephiroth’s sword through his back. This is worse than watching her mother leave on the back of a truck. This is worse than knowing Angeal would never come back. This is worse than watching Cid walk away from their failed dream, from _her._

She gets up so suddenly that it makes her dizzy, her chair toppling over backwards and the room spinning and her head screaming. She just wants to put as much distance between herself and this . . . _person_ sitting across from her, this person that she doesn’t even know, this person who killed the closest thing to a real father she’s ever had. 

Stumbling over the chair, Charlie whimpers. Her heart is throbbing loudly against her chest as Tseng slowly rises to his feet, holding his hands as if expecting her to drop to the floor any moment now. Charlie shakes her head, flattening herself against the wall behind her, smooth and cold against her bare back. 

“Please, don’t—” she croaks, shaking her head harder as he takes another step closer to her. “Please, go away—don’t—”

“You’re going to get yourself all worked up,” he replies coolly, reaching out for her, still too far away to touch her. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

There’s no hiding the fearful way her chest heaves and up and down, the trembling of her limbs, the quivering of her bottom lip. Everything about him frightens her in that moment, the way a Turk _should_ frighten someone. 

“Please, go away,” she sobs, hardly coherent. “Please stay away from me—”

“Charlie—”

 _Charlie, he says,_ she thinks to herself, _like we’re friends._

She feels her entire body go limp against the wall, and everything goes black. 


	40. Chapter 40

“Please, you have to let me see her. It’s been five days. I just need to talk to her. Just for a minute. Please, just let me see that she’s all right.”

“I can’t allow you to see her, Director. President’s orders. I’m sorry, but I can assure you that the vice president is in perfect health.” And then, with a slight frown on his face, Tseng adds bitterly, “Although if she continues her hunger strike, she may not be in perfect health for much longer.” 

“You can’t just keep her in a cell,” Reeve protests, grabbing onto Tseng’s arm as he turns to leave the office. The Turk jerks away from him, scowling as he brushes off his suit jacket, but waits to hear the rest of his argument. “That’s your vice president. She deserves better than that.”

“I don’t give orders pertaining to the vice president’s capture and detainment,” Tseng replies smoothly, in a very practiced way. “I only follow them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Director—”

“Can’t you give me anything?” He knows that he sounds desperate, and his voice cracks slightly, but it’s been five days and, still, no one has thought to tell him anything, nor has anyone allowed him to have contact with Charlie. “Can’t you pass her a message from me? Can’t you just tell her I’m thinking of her? She needs to know that I tried to—”

“When the vice president is ready to cooperate with us, then she will be released. And when she is released, I have no objection to you visiting her.”

“Whatever information you need, surely I can get it from her,” he counters, sure of that. “Let me just explain to her the situation, and I’m certain that she’ll be willing to tell me whatever it is you want to know.”

“You think she would tell you?” Tseng asks, looking skeptical. It’s meant to be a cruel little jab at Reeve, and the smug look on the Turk’s face nearly snaps his heart in two. “She left you without any explanation. I doubt that asking nicely about her intentions will convince her to talk now, but thank you for the offer. We Turks are very practiced with interrogations.”

“Interrogations,” Reeve repeats breathlessly, wondering what’s been going on behind Charlie’s cell door while no one is watching. 

“I could call it something else, if it would put your mind at ease.”

Reeve scoffs, running a hand through his hair. Has Tseng always been this cold? Has he always been so painfully indifferent? The answer is yes, and Reeve expects no less from the leader of the Turks, but this is _Charlotte_ they’re talking about, the vice president, Tseng’s _charge_ , his obligation and personal responsibility—not some petty criminal.

“What was her crime?”

“‘Conspiring with Avalanche’ is the official reason given by the president.” The corners of Tseng’s mouth twitch, like it’s _funny_. “Whether she is guilty or not remains to be seen, but . . . well, Director, you can’t deny the compromising position that she was caught in.”

“She only wanted to get to you,” Reeve continues, though it seemingly has no effect on Tseng, who looks very much to have one foot out the door already, eager to escape the conversation. He’s put a desk between them while Reeve has been busy worrying, trapped inside his own head. “All she wanted was for _you_ to keep her safe, and you’ve imprisoned her for that! She’s committed no crime!”

“Good-bye, Director.”

“She _trusted_ you!”

Tseng doesn’t falter, tilting his head slightly as he braces himself over his desk, knuckles white and propped against the smooth wood. “And yet, it was _you_ who gave away her location, was it not?” 

Reeve feels the heat rise to his cheeks. He’s walked himself right into that one and has no excuse for it. He _had_ given both Rufus and Tseng Charlie’s whereabouts, and if it hadn’t been for him, Charlie might very well be on her way to Cosmo Canyon right now, on her way to her _mother._

“The president promised that things would return to normal if she were brought back.”

“That was before her companions attacked two of my men in the hopes of keeping her from returning to Midgar. They’re lucky they weren’t brought back with her for kidnapping the vice president,” Tseng notes. “And, frankly, Director Tuesti, I think you’re a fool to have believed that. Did you really believe the president would allow his own sister to run amok with the terrorists who bombed your reactors and not face any consequences?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. He has his own selfish reasons for wanting Charlie out of her cell, and he’s willing to forget her past actions if it means that she’s safe, curled up at his side, smiling at _him_ again instead of at Cait Sith. 

Tseng flashes him a small smile, but it’s brief, and Reeve thinks it’s slightly mocking, as well. “Charlotte has been given the most comfortable cell in the building, and is being provided everything she may require. No harm will come to her, Director.”

Gritting his teeth, Reeve demands, “I want to see the president.”

“He’s currently out of town on business, I’m afraid, but perhaps his secretary will be able to schedule you a future appointment with him.” 

“Tseng, _please_ ,” he begs, and he knows he shouldn’t give the Turk this much power, and the dark eyes that regard him are completely devoid of sympathy or compassion. “I just want her to know that I haven’t forgotten about her.”

“That’s very touching, but I’m sure romance is the very last thing on her mind right now, Director. Have a good afternoon.”

Tseng moves quickly around his desk, giving Reeve another terse smile as he brushes back him and out the door of his office without another word. 

* * *

“You know, if Charlie was here, I bet she’d be able to fix the buggy for us.”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck _up!_ ”

Reeve knows it’s not Charlotte that’s upsetting Barret so much, but more so the fact that Cait Sith is right. 

“We’re not far now,” Red informs them, leading the way. There’s something eager about his voice that hasn’t been so obvious before now. “We can make the rest of the journey on foot and still be there by nightfall.”

Everyone glances up at the sky. The sun is already beginning to set. It’s not like Cait Sith’s moogle gets tired, but it is a bit awkward to maneuver around the rocky cliffs they’re climbing. 

Their buggy, that had brought them so quickly to Gongaga and back towards Cosmo Canyon, had broken down just at the base of the red rock canyon, leaving them no choice but to take their gear and load it onto their backs like pack chocobos before climbing the slight incline that Red promises will lead them to their desired destination. 

Truthfully, Reeve has never been to Cosmo Canyon and knows very little about it. He’s eager to see the place (even if it is through the eyes of a toy) and eager to ask about Charlie’s mother, if only to selfishly learn the truth for himself. 

“It’s a shame Charlotte isn’t here to see my home,” Red muses, his feet pattering lightly atop the dirt, kicking dust behind him accidentally. “Anyone interested in the study of the planet or life eventually makes their way here, to Cosmo Canyon. The observatory there—” He gestures with his head and Cait Sith cranes his neck back to give Reeve a better view of the massive telescope atop an outcrop of rock, partially obstructed by a few jagged parts of the canyon—“is the finest on the planet.”

Yes, Reeve thinks, Charlie would have loved it. She had expressed a subtle eagerness about journeying to Cosmo Canyon, and had told Cait Sith in a conspiratorial tone that she hoped one of the elders would allow her use of their telescope. 

Built, literally, into the canyon and the rock faces, Cosmo Canyon seems to him a town that has stood still for a hundred years. It’s odd to look around and see torches lighting their way up the crooked stairs that have been carved from the earth, leading them all straight to the gate, where a lone guardsmen stands watch, unarmed. 

Reeve learns a lot through Cait Sith that evening. 

He learns that Red XIII’s real name is Nanaki, he’s the last of a unique species that died out with his mother, and that he’s only a child. The circumstances surrounding his capture (by the Turks, Reeve knows) is something Nanaki does not speak of openly, choosing to refer to it only in passing, but the villagers are ecstatic to see their friend home again for the first time in about a year.

He learns that Cosmo Canyon is not so much a town, but rather a community filled with scientists (and, judging by the muscle mass of some men here, laborers have taken up this place as home, as well) who settled here upon finishing something the locals call their ‘pilgrimage’, but what Reeve takes to mean ‘a lot of travel and a lot of research’. 

He learns about the old man who lives up in the observatory, Bugenhagen, a man floating on some type of Shinra-designed hovercraft in lieu of legs, a man that Nanaki refers to as his grandfather.

What surprises him most about this is that Reeve _recognizes_ him, although the man has lost his hair now and his beard is growing longer and getting whiter. They had not worked at the Shinra Building at the same time together, but Reeve has seen pictures of him and has read reports in Bugenhagen’s own handwriting and had heard others mention the man in passing. 

He takes solace in the fact that Bugenhagen is not of the same creed as Hojo, or even Hollander, the second-rate scientist that had created Charlie’s first love.

He learns that Bugenhagen can, apparently, hear the cries of the dying planet. 

And Reeve learns that he, too, can hear the screams of the planet here, as well. It sounds like high-level frequency and it pierces his eardrums as it filters through Cait Sith and makes him cry out in shock at first, so loudly that someone knocks on the door to ask if he’s all right. 

Bugenhagen offers to show his observatory to a few of Nanaki’s friends, and Cloud and Aerith agree to join the old man, but Cait Sith and Reeve have different ideas, and he can’t say he really envies either Cloud or Aerith. 

The last thing he wants to do is listen to Bugenhagen go on some great speech about how mako reactors are killing the planet, taking its life away, making it hurt and suffer like a human being. That had never been his intention in the first place. 

All he wanted was to enrich people's lives, to _help_ people. That’s all he’s ever wanted, but his good deeds have a horrible way of coming back to bite him in the ass in the most unexpected ways.

“Excuse me,” Cait Sith calls after Bugenhagen, just as the old man and Cait’s three friends are preparing to take their leave and enter the laboratory. He’s waited until the others have left, leaving a smaller group of people to listen in. Nanaki, Aerith, and Cloud are the three people he would rather have listening, if he had to choose any at all. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”

Bugenhagen doesn’t look surprised to see him talking. After all, he’s probably very used to seeing Nanaki talk. “Yes, of course! If it’s about the planet, perhaps you could come back later and have another look when it’s not so full?”

“It’s not like that, actually. We were told we might be able to find someone here,” Cait Sith continues. Aerith looks down at her feet, holding her hands behind her back. “Until recently, we were traveling for a little bit with the vice president, Charlotte Shinra.”

Bugenhagen eyes him, looking almost playful. The corners of his thin lips curl upwards knowingly. “Did you?” He turns in the air to face his grandson. “And how did you find her, Nanaki? Did you like her?”

“I found her . . . surprisingly pleasant, if not slightly vain at times,” Nanaki replies, and Reeve can’t help but smile to himself. “Grandfather, she showed me a picture of her mother.”

“Ho ho hoo! Did she?”

“You never told me that Eleanor was the late president’s wife, Grandfather.”

“No? Never? I never said it once?”

“No. I would have remembered that.”

“It must have slipped my mind.” Bugenhagen turns back towards Cait Sith, and Reeve finds that his heart is pumping fast and hard. If she’s alive, he may have good news to bring to Charlie once she’s released from her cell. “Yes, Eleanor did come here around twenty years ago with no money, no status, and only the clothes on her back, requesting a private audience with me. You see, I had known her many, many years ago, before she married the late president.”

“So she _was_ here?” Cloud asks curiously, leaning against the wall and listening with a slightly aloof expression on his face. 

“Yes, she was. I met with Eleanor that very night and she explained to me that she had left Midgar to get away from the president, leaving behind her two small children, and it was all she could do to make it to Cosmo Canyon. She asked only for safety, protection, and a place to conduct her research.”

No one asks the question that hangs heavy in the room. Reeve can’t help but notice Aerith’s awkward expression, eyes darting everywhere around the room. 

“Nanaki said she was sick,” Cait Sith finally says. “Is she still?”

Bugenhagen is quiet for a moment. Perhaps that’s answer enough. “I’m sorry. Eleanor returned to the planet six months ago. There was nothing that could be done, but it may help to know that she is at peace again, and no longer suffering.”

Reeve exhales softly, running a hand down his face from the small office he’s set up for himself inside the house at Kalm. 

“If any of you come across the vice president again, I hope I do not ask too much by hoping you might return with her,” Bugenhagen says sympathetically. “I have kept many of her things at her request that Miss Shinra may be interested in having. Eleanor was always certain that her daughter, at least, would make her way to Cosmo Canyon eventually.”

“Was she buried here?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Please, our guide is watching the gate. Tell him Bugenhagen has asked him to escort you to her grave. Perhaps . . .” Bugenhagen sighs heavily, bobbing slowly up and down in the air. “Why don’t you bring some flowers with you? It has been too long since I’ve visited Eleanor. I admit, at the age I am at now, the idea of death is . . . sobering.

“But I should not fear death. When one returns to the planet, they are never truly gone. When you find Miss Charlotte Shinra, and when she seeks comfort, perhaps you could tell her that her mother is still here, watching over her.”

Reeve isn’t sure whether or not Bugenhagen wants them to lie to Charlie’s face about her mother or not.

“Eleanor is the wind that rustles the leaves, the water that feeds the roots of the saplings and the flowers that bloom. She is heat off the flames of a fire that warms us on a cold night. She is the grass underfoot that tickles our feet, the trees that bless us with shade we may rest under, the very energy that flows under the earth of our planet. She will never truly be gone so long as the planet continues to live.”

The sentiment is touching. He wonders what Charlie might think of it. Then again, Charlie has never been a spiritual person, preferring to look to science for answers. 

“She was so excited . . . to see her mother again,” Aerith frowns, glancing hopelessly at Cloud. “Let’s hurry, Cloud. Once we leave here, we have to find Charlie. She has to know the truth.”

Cloud looks hesitant, but keeps his mouth shut, choosing not to argue with her. Cait Sith takes his leave, hopping very clumsily out of the cramped observatory and sliding off the moogle’s shoulders to pick some wildflowers from the garden outside. 

Reeve is certain that once they leave Cosmo Canyon, Charlie will not be a priority once again, but he resolves to bring her here himself one day, so at least she won’t have to be alone when she kneels before her mother’s grave. 

* * *

“Where are they now?”

“Nibelheim, sir,” Reeve says hesitantly, shifting in his chair across from the president. He isn’t sure whether he made the right decision or not when choosing to omit the fact that Rufus and Charlie’s mother had passed away in Cosmo Canyon very recently. 

The trip to Nibelheim had been quiet. Reeve often found himself wondering if it would be different with Charlie, making people laugh and smile. 

Nanaki had decided to stay with them, to observe all he could of the planet and its wonders on their journey. Unfortunately, upon arriving at Nibelheim, things had taken a turn, and not for the better. 

“Only . . .”

Rufus looks up from his desk, frowning and knitting his brows together. “Only what?”

There’s a moment of silence between them as they look at each other. “Both Cloud and Tifa were absolutely certain that Nibelheim was burned to the ground five years ago by Sephiroth,” he continues. 

“And? So it’s a pile of rubble now. The only thing in the area that’s of importance to us is the reactor at Mount Nibel, which hasn’t been working for five years now.”

“But that’s just it—it’s not a pile of rubble,” Reeve says, and this makes the president falter. “The town is completely normal, save for about a dozen people in black robes clustered around the village, in homes and shops. They’re completely incoherent, most of them, and the townspeople swear up and down that no fire ever happened.”

Rufus’s lips part slightly and he rubs his index finger along his bottom lip, deep in thought. “I’ll look into it,” he says dismissively. “What else? What about Sephiroth? You mentioned you encountered him.”

Reeve nods, clearing his throat. He won’t deny that he feels rather guilty passing on this information, especially because Cloud and his party have been very welcoming to Cait Sith. “Sephiroth is heading north past Mount Nibel. We depart in the morning.”

“Good.” Rufus runs a hand through his light blond hair and turns in his chair to face one of the computers on his desk. “Now, if I understand correctly, you had other intentions with this meeting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go on, Reeve.”

Reeve swallows hard, not going to be fooled by Rufus’s charming demeanor this time. “It’s about your sister, Mr. President,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Charlie has always been a touchy subject. “You’ve been holding her for eight days and have made no progress.”

“Who says we haven’t been making progress?” Rufus snaps at him, tearing his eyes away from the screen again. “I don’t recall that you were involved with her interrogation.” He leans back in his seat, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “What would you suggest we do with her?”

“I don’t know that I’m the right person to ask,” he admits, wanting to be as honest as possible. “But, if you release her to me, I promise you that I’ll bring her home and keep her there.”

“Home?” Rufus sneers. “You mean to the new apartment you’ve moved into?”

Reeve blushes. “I thought Charlie leaving her engagement ring behind was a very clear indication of what she wanted, or didn’t want, out of our relationship.”

“I want to know what you would do in my place,” Rufus continues, acting as if he hadn’t even spoken in regards to his previous question. “I spent years trapped within the villa at Costa del Sol at the command of my father, and I have no wish to do the same to my sweet sister, but she must be punished. Letting her go would make me seem weak. So tell me, Reeve, _what am I to do_?”

Reeve is quiet for another moment. Rufus is looking at him with a burning intensity, not quite as angry-looking as he sounds. In fact, he almost looks desperate, and Reeve can’t help but wonder if Rufus is truly struggling and seeking help. But the idea of Rufus seeking help from _him_ is almost too ridiculous to believe.

“I’m not going to suggest any form of punishment for her,” he confesses with a weak smile and a slight shrug. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to advocate for punishment towards a woman I was engaged to until very recently.”

Rufus doesn’t look surprised. “I didn’t really think you would.”

“Mr. President, I am begging you to let her go. Your sister only wanted to get to Tseng. She had no intention of overthrowing you. She just wanted the Turks to bring her home safely.”

“Why? Do I need to have you interrogated, as well, since you claim to know her motives?”

Reeve isn’t stupid enough to tell the truth, but he gives Rufus a look that is unmistakable. 

“I shouldn’t have hit her, all right? Is that what you want to hear, Director?” Rufus snaps, two pink patches appearing on his pale cheekbones. “But she’s been getting away with too much because no one has the heart to discipline her. Even the Turks are soft towards her. Someone had to do it. Someone needed to beat some sense into her, and my father isn’t here anymore.”

Reeve lowers his eyes. 

“I told Tseng to get a confession out of her the moment he returned to the city, the day after Reno brought her back,” the president continues. “I told him to be quick and clean about it, and he convinced me that he could do it without having to lay a finger on her.” He looks angry then, his jaw clenching tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “It’s been eight days, and she’s refused to say a single word to him. She won’t tell him what Avalanche is up to, where they are, how many are in their party, why she chose to go with them.”

“She won’t be able to hold out forever,” Reeve tells him sincerely, leaving his main question unasked, but Rufus seems to have a better read on him than Reeve suspected.

“You want to know what will happen to her once we get that information, is that it?”

Reeve hesitates, scoffing nervously. 

Rufus traces his bottom teeth with his tongue before chewing on his bottom lip. Charlie has the same habit. “This is what’s going to happen,” he begins, and Reeve feels his heart stutter for a moment, the anticipation killing him. “When Charlie finally gives up the information I want, I’m going to take her and the other executives to Nibelheim, where we’ll ask around town before continuing beyond Mount Nibel to find Sephiroth.”

“But sir, I—”

“All of the other executives _except_ for you, Reeve.”

He closes his mouth, blushing. He takes it as a slight, which he’s sure it’s meant to be. 

But Rufus smiles, like they’re sharing an inside joke. “I’m going to keep Tseng on Sephiroth’s trail, and he’ll leave again once Charlie breaks, but the other Turks have been given permission to take a brief vacation, so we need more eyes and ears for the time being. The Turks have certainly earned a break, bringing back Charlie. My vice president, my own sweet sister, wants so badly to escape me, and I don’t trust the other directors not to kill you while I’m gone.”

Reeve is glad that Rufus has taken measures to protect him, but it’s also slightly embarrassing. 

“I need someone to make sure the city does not burn to the ground while I’m gone, and you’re the only man I currently trust for the job, so tell me—” Rufus leans forward over the desk—“are you up for that task?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Good. Soon, we’ll have both Sephiroth _and_ Avalanche in our hands, and we can finally begin to rebuild the world. Are you prepared for that?”

“Yes,” Reeve answers, and it’s the truth.

* * *

It’s getting more and more difficult to discern what information he should pass onto Rufus. 

The farther they travel, the more Reeve finds himself growing attached to these people, despite them having no idea who’s behind Cait Sith’s eyes, watching them, taking in as much information as he can, reporting back to Shinra. 

One thing he _certainly_ doesn’t tell Rufus is their newest travel companion—a former Turk that Cloud, Aerith, and Tifa had stumbled upon in the basement of Shinra Manor, a stone fortress that housed dozens of scientists many years ago and was the place where ghastly and gruesome experiments often took place. 

_Charlie would be thrilled,_ he couldn’t help but think bitterly, upon first seeing the man Cloud called Vincent, half his pale and gaunt face hidden away behind layers of dark red cloth, his inky black hair long and matted from over twenty years of undisturbed sleep in the dank bowels of the mansion, only choosing to join them at the prospect of seeing Professor Hojo again. 

Physically, he looks no older than Charlie, despite his claims of having been asleep for over twenty years. No one really puts him to the question, however. 

Yuffie had fussed over his sabatons and the golden gauntlet on his left arm, blushing when she peered into his crimson-colored eyes. While she hadn’t been very wary of him, Reeve had been. 

Anyone with such a terrible vendetta against Professor Hojo (and he’s certain there are others besides Vincent) is surely dangerous, especially a man who had once been a Turk.

* * *

He’s forced to cut the sound when he sits back down in front of the monitors that overlook Charlotte’s cell, because her dry and unreserved sobs rip right through the very core of his entire being. 

They’re half-screams and half-cries, anguished and tragic and physically painful, like a child throwing a temper tantrum until they’re red in the face and sweating, their speech impeded by hiccoughs and a sandpapery throat. 

He hadn’t wanted to lie to her, but _Gods_ , she was getting too close to him, dangerously so. 

The moment he had sat down at the table with her for dinner, the moment she had pushed his plate off the table like a petulant toddler, he had known that Charlotte wasn’t frightened or intimidated by him in the slightest.

She had known that no physical harm would come to her, that he would be loath to raise a hand to her, so she really had left him no choice but to come at her from a different angle, needling her about the one thing that he knows has weighed most heavily on her these past years. 

Tseng won’t deny that he understands, even sympathizes with her, and he feels sorry that it had to come to this, that he had to convince Charlotte of something he would never wish for himself. 

She thinks he’s a murderer now—which he is, and Charlotte has always known that—but he isn’t Veld’s murderer, and he isn’t Veld’s daughter’s murderer. 

But it’s better this way. He needed to inspire fear within her, needed her to remember that crossing continents and the world to find safety with him is not an option. She needed to respect him again, to appreciate who he is—the leader of the Turks, a threat, a powerful man with equally dangerous operatives at his disposal. 

He’s not a rookie anymore, desperate for Charlotte’s (and Veld’s) approval. He can’t be that soft boy he used to be. He doesn’t have the luxury of being soft anymore.

If she recognizes him as a threat, she won’t be inclined to chase after him again, seeking comfort or safety or security or whatever she thinks that he might be able to offer her. Perhaps she’ll even pull away of her own accord, without needing to be reminded again that getting too close to him is a death sentence, a mistake. 

Whatever broken family they had pretended to be all those years ago, when she was young and lonely and vulnerable, and he was very much the same . . . 

Things have changed now, and Tseng has changed with the times. It’s not his fault if Charlotte continues to cling to the past, a past that is long gone now and completely out of reach. 

Yet, on the other hand, if Charlotte believes him to be Veld’s murderer, it’s very possible that he’s done more harm than good. It’s possible that his confession will cause her to break further from Shinra Incorporated and her brother. 

And if Charlotte _does_ try to do the stupid, dangerous, impulsive, and reckless thing and tries to run away again . . . 

This time, he might just let her go.

Tseng can’t help but think this all a massive show of strength for the president, a way for him to show his sister who gives the orders now. It took ten days to coerce from her a confession that Director Tuesti could have given for her. 

But Tseng wasn’t about to torture her. Veld would never forgive him for laying hands on his little princess, would never forgive him for being so cruel, for hurting her, for going back on the promise he had made shortly before the botched assassination attempt. 

Rufus had been so convinced that she had ulterior motives, that her running away was fueled by a desire to sit in the president’s seat behind the president’s desk herself. He couldn’t possibly believe that her disappearance was caused by fear—fear of her brother, fear of the truth, fear of the unknown future. 

It will be good to leave tomorrow, to place some distance between himself and Charlotte again. Sometimes when he looks at her, all he can see is Veld, and his influence is written all over her stubborn features, even now, at twenty-seven. 

The way she had carried herself and remained silent when Tseng came to her for information, the cold expression she had worn on her face, the way her pale eyes had held such fury and rage that did not find its way onto her pretty face. 

She’s beginning to calm down when Rufus enters the cell for the first time in days. Out of curiosity, Tseng turns the sound back on as Charlotte slips out of bed, still wearing the same outfit she had tried to seduce him in a few hours ago. 

It makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat as she approaches Rufus in nothing but her bra and underwear so confidently. It’s not the first time her brother has seen her in such little clothing, and Tseng is willing to bet Rufus has seen her in a lot less than that over the years.

“ _Oh, Rufus . . ._ ” Her voice is hoarse as it filters through the speakers and, to Tseng’s surprise, Charlotte throws her arms around her brother’s neck and holds him tight, his own arms snaking around her waist to keep her in place against him. 

The president mumbles something against her hair that Tseng doesn’t catch. Surely Rufus knows that he’s listening, and whatever he says is something he doesn’t want heard.

That makes Tseng nervous, _very_ nervous. 

Veld had mentioned in passing, of course, of the closeness between Charlotte and Rufus. Tseng hadn’t thought anything of it—the two children were lonely and neglected and very close in age. It made sense for them to be attached to each other, and it was almost touching to see the lengths Rufus was willing to go for his sister, to make her happy, to keep her from crying and dwelling on things unable to be changed. 

And then he had come to the villa one day to find Charlie and Rufus tangled together on the sofa, one of his hands up her shirt and swallowing her soft little sighs with his own mouth. What had shocked him most—other than the fact that the Shinra children were groping each other in full view—was the fact that it certainly hadn’t been their first time doing it. 

Rufus, who had been trapping her against the sofa, had been the first to notice. He had only been fourteen or so at the time, and had met Tseng’s eyes with a burning ferocity that made him seem years older. That was the first time he had noticed something almost foreboding about Rufus, a fierce protectiveness of his sister. 

They hadn’t spoken of it afterwards, but Charlotte had taken care to avoid both her brother and Tseng for the next few days. 

And then, a couple of years later, he had caught them at it again, half-naked in Rufus’s bed at the villa, rubbing against each other and kissing and touching and sighing and moaning, whispering to each other. 

He hadn’t meant to stand and watch for so long, but it was difficult for him to settle on a proper emotion with so many fluttering through him at that moment—disgust, shock, anger, horror, and even a slight stirring of desire that made him disgusted with _himself_. 

“Interested?” Rufus had hissed at him, gripping his sister’s bare hips so tight that his fingertips were leaving little marks against her smooth skin. “Join us or leave.”

That had been enough to make him blush, the very idea of climbing into bed with two of the most powerful people in the world and letting them _exert_ that power over him. 

Rufus had never once looked away from him, moving his right hand to Charlotte’s neck and stroking her throat lightly, trailing fingers across the swell of her lace-covered breasts, tracing the waistband of her underwear, parting her legs with his knee, dipping two long and spindly fingers underneath the fabric covering Charlotte’s center. 

It had made him angry to see Rufus putting his own sister on display like that, using her right in front of Tseng’s eyes as if such a sight would force him to choose more quickly. He had been so unabashed, and so confident with his efforts to please his sister. 

It was a dare. The only thing Rufus wanted was someone else to control, someone else to keep under his thumb, something to blackmail him with if Tseng decided to tell President Shinra what he caught his children doing. 

But Tseng had heard the fearful and embarrassed way Charlotte had whined Rufus’s name into the crook of her brother’s arm, and he had walked away with no intention of ever mentioning it again.

“ _Please, stay,_ ” he hears Charlotte plead in a hushed voice. The lights are dimmed in her cell now, offering her an artificial nightfall. “ _Just for tonight. Please don’t leave me here. I can’t bear to be alone._ ”

Tseng knows, before Rufus even answers, what his answer will be. “ _Of course, sweet sister._ ”

_Veld wouldn’t be content sitting here and watching this,_ Tseng can’t help but think to himself. But what is he to do? There’s _nothing_ for him to do except watch as Rufus and Charlotte settle into bed together, curled up in each other’s arms, whispering to each other.

Rufus wipes her tears, strokes her hair, and urges her to settle and calm down and brushes aside her empty apologies for nothing in particular, suddenly a very different man. For all of his talk of torture and confessions, Tseng doesn’t think the president truly has the stomach to subject Charlotte to such violent interrogation tactics. 

He turns the cameras off, sighing heavily as he leaves the office. 

* * *

_This_ is what he’s wanted for so long. 

Though Charlie is crying against his chest, she’s beginning to calm down now. She refuses to tell him why she’s crying, but Rufus knows what Tseng had told her, knows that he had lied to her face about Veld in order to convince her he was dangerous. 

Without Reeve, without Tseng, without Father or Mother or Veld or anyone else to keep them apart, Rufus _revels_ in it. 

One of his hands slides up and down her bare side, squeezing gently to gauge her reaction. She sniffles, but doesn’t stop him, nuzzling into his neck. Rufus’s eyes close of their own accord, at the feeling of her nose brushing against his skin, at the feeling of her hand splayed over his rapidly beating heart. 

In here, the world has momentarily stopped. In here—in Charlie’s cell—he’s offered the chance to breathe again, to contemplate everything that has happened in the past few weeks, to be someone else other than ‘President Shinra’. 

It’s just the two of them now, and there is nothing beyond the four walls of her cell that matters more than this, than being here with Charlotte with the urge to break down in her arms. He wants to bury his face into her chest and cry while her fingers comb affectionately through his hair.

Rufus moves a hand up to her face, tilting her head back from his neck so he can look at her. The only light comes from the bathroom, spilling over their legs and making it easier to see her sharp features, so like his own. He’s always loved how much they look alike.

Charlotte’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot, her cheeks flushed and shadows under her eyes. He wants to tell her how pretty he thinks she is like this, but the words get caught in his throat. He’s never been good at telling her how much he cares about her. He’s always been better at showing it.

On the verge of tears himself, Rufus traces her lower lip with his thumb, parting her lips slightly and pushing his thumb into the warm and wet cavern of her mouth. When her lips close around the tip of it, her tongue brushing against the pad, it pulls a soft groan from deep in his chest, the blood shooting right down to his cock. 

He pulls his thumb from her mouth quickly, before _that_ goes any further and he can’t control himself. 

But it’s too late. Rufus captures her mouth in the darkness, pleased that she responds so eagerly, opening her mouth for him. Their kisses are wet and messy, hardly any better than the childish way they used to kiss when they were younger. 

She isn’t the best he’s ever had, but _Gods_ , does he love her more than any of the others. 

He braces himself upon his forearm, but she pulls away upon feeling his erection pressing against her stomach. 

“Rufus, don’t . . .” she whispers, looking even more flushed, her lips swollen from the force of his kiss. “Tseng will see.”

“He’s turned the cameras off. Look.”

“Why would he do that?” she asks quickly, sounding afraid. “Rufus, please, I don’t want to—”

“Don’t you love me anymore?” 

The words come out broken and desperate, and they cause the back of his neck to flush hot, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. What would people think if they saw their president in such a vulnerable position? They would laugh at him, mock him, taunt him, just like they’ve been doing for years.

But not Charlie. Never Charlie.

“Of course I still love you, Rufus,” she breathes, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes and then dragging the backs of her fingers across his cheekbone. “You’re my brother. I’ll always love you.”

Rufus looks down into her face, feeling her fingertips skate over his cheek. “Then why won’t you let me touch you?”

Charlie blushes in earnest, turning her face slightly to hide her shame. Rufus has long since buried those same feelings of shame. He presses gently into her belly, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through his entire body. 

“I can make you feel better, Charlie. Let me show you. I can make you feel better than Reeve ever did.”

“I just want you to lie down with me. That would make me feel better.”

Rufus hesitates, hovering above her. Her eyes show nothing but misery and despair, completely blank. Her eyes make it seem like she’s dead, going through the motions out of pure routine. “I want to . . .” He pauses again, growing more flustered by the minute. “. . . make you happy. I don’t want you to leave again.”

Perhaps Charlotte and Mother are more similar than he thought. Is it him? What’s so horrible about being with him? What’s so horrible about loving him? Why does the idea disgust her?

All right, he understands why it disgusts her. 

“I am happy, Rufus,” she says soothingly, flashing him a weak and tired and sad little smile. “You’re here now. I’m not alone.”

What had he come in here to do? Hadn’t he come here to punish her? How had she managed to coerce him into bed so easily? How had she managed to wiggle her way out of punishment yet again? How had he let himself fall for her sweet little words like a damned fool? 

“Lie down,” she insists again, her voice quiet and gentle. “Hold me. I’m tired.”

Rufus finds himself obeying, albeit slowly. He settles onto his side again, slipping an arm underneath her pillow and drawing her close. It isn’t two minutes until Charlie starts crying again, heartbroken and grieving for Veld all over again.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, privately wondering why Tseng had decided to turn the cameras off in the first place. “You can go home tomorrow morning,” he tells her during a lull in her sobbing. “But we’re leaving for Nibelheim in two days.”

“What’s in Nibelheim?”

Rufus thinks for a moment. “I . . . don’t know.” He’ll have a lot of digging to do before then. “But we’re going to find Sephiroth. You and I. We’re going to do it together.”

“Really?”

He hums, kissing her hair. “Really.” She presses her cheek to his, and it’s wet with tears and warm. He closes his eyes. “Don’t leave again. Please.”

“No, I won’t.” Charlie nuzzles closer, tangling their legs together. “I won’t leave again.”

Rufus holds her and weeps. 


	41. Chapter 41

She is six-years-old, and terribly, terribly afraid of thunderstorms, and this one sounds like it’s coming from directly over the villa. 

Her father is away on business in Junon with Rufus, and Mother is visiting sick relatives in Kalm. Neither of them had wanted to bring Charlie along. She’s used to it by now, but it still hurts. 

Usually, during thunderstorms, Rufus will sneak into her bed and they’ll both hide under the blankets, but tonight she is alone and trembling, and when lightning flashes, her bedroom lights up even through the comforter around her. The thunder drowns out the sound of the pouring rain and rattles her window panes.

During a lull in the storm, Charlie slips out of bed and out of her room. The hallway is dark without any windows, but there’s a night light plugged into the wall, just in case she needs to see her way to the bathroom at night. 

She doesn’t need the night light anymore. She can feel her way there, and she counts the doors she touches until she reaches the third door at the opposite end of the hall. 

Charlie knocks on the door to the guest room. That’s where the Turks always sleep when Father and Rufus and Mother are away, but Veld stays more than anyone else. The only time he doesn’t is when he’s away on assignment, but he doesn’t go away as often anymore. He says he’s getting old now, and he prefers the quiet of the villa and the salty smell of Costa del Sol over field missions. 

There are clothes all over the floor, and on his nightstand is a gun, an empty glass bottle of something, and a few pill bottles. He snores when he sleeps, his arm hangs off the bed, and she has to poke him in the ribs to get him to stir.

“Veld,” she whispers, putting her face right in front of his, so close that she can feel his breath against her cheek. “Veld, please wake up.”

He stirs, groaning and shifting. “What are you doing awake, little princess?” 

“I’m scared of the thunder.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of. The storm will pass soon.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

It takes him a long time to answer. He opens his eyes and looks at her, looks hard into her terrified little girl’s face. “Just for tonight.”

He throws back the blanket and puts a shirt on to hide the marred canvas of his body. There are scars all over. She’s seen them when he takes her to the beach. Everyone is scared of him, but not her. She could never be afraid of someone so gentle with her. 

Thunder booms as she settles into the bed with him. It will not be the last time. She’s not as afraid with him beside her. His room smells a little bit like her father’s cigar smoke, but not quite so sweet. 

Father never lets her sleep in bed with him. Sometimes Mother does, but not when Father is home. 

“Better?” Veld asks, rolling onto his side. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. Bed time now, little one.”

The storm is already moving away from overhead. She finds his hand in the darkness, wrapping small and thin fingers around his hard ones. He squeezes back. 

* * *

She is ten, and whenever she and Veld eat ice cream on the boardwalk, happy families always pass them by, holding hands and carrying children on their shoulders, pointing at souvenirs that only tourists would like. 

They’re always laughing. Her father hates to laugh and he hates to hold hands and he hasn’t carried Charlie in his arms or on his shoulders for a long time. 

“Why doesn’t daddy ever want to bring me to work with him?” 

Veld prefers to eat his ice cream from a bowl. Once, he bought a cone, but the ice cream melted all over and ended up making his prosthetic arm all sticky. Charlie had helped clean it.

“Because it’s boring work. Wouldn’t you rather your brother suffer through the boring work?”

That’s what he always says. It’s just an excuse to cover up the truth. “Does he not love me?”

Veld frowns and puts his empty bowl onto the bench beside him. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I think it’s true.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said it out loud. She would never say it to anyone else. “Your father isn’t a sentimental man. Do you know what that means?” 

She nods. His laughter is gruff. It sounds forced, but she knows it’s not. 

“Of course you do, precocious girl. He just doesn’t know how to show that he loves you.”

“Well, I don’t think he likes me at all.”

Veld hums, watching her look down sadly at her chocolate ice cream cone. The same flavor every single time with the same topping. “Have you told him that?”

“No.” She never would. She knows Father wouldn’t care, and it would probably just earn her a beating. “We’re a broken family.”

His frown deepens as the sound of children’s laughter floats up to the boardwalk from the beach. He points to her melting ice cream. Her fingers are turning brown. “Oh no, what happened to your ice cream?”

She looks closely, but sees nothing, and then the ice cream is pushed up into her face. It smears across her lips and chin and the tip of her nose. She licks as much of it off her face as she can and gives Veld a surprised look.

He’s smiling, and they laugh as loudly as the other families walking by that day. 

* * *

She is twelve, and her father has promised to pick her up personally from school.

She is so excited. Father never picks her up from school. Tonight he’s promised to take her out for dinner, for her birthday. They’ve been planning this night for weeks, and the other children are buzzing with the idea that they might be able to catch a glimpse of President Shinra. 

But he never comes, and Charlie is left waiting on the steps well after the other children go home. A car only comes for her an hour after she expects her father. She’s embarrassed and ashamed and never wants to come back to this school ever again, not after all of her schoolmates saw her father forget her. 

Veld is the one to pick her up, and she gets into the backseat without saying a word. “You hungry? I have to go back to the office, but we can pick you up something to eat.”

“Can I come back to the office with you?”

“Sure, little princess.”

* * *

She is fourteen, and she wakes in the middle of the night with a terrible pain in the right side of her abdomen while her father and brother are gone from the city.

Her cries and terrified screams wake Veld, who kicks her bedroom door off the hinges entirely, his gun drawn, ready to fight back an intruder. His hair sticks up this way and that, slightly more gray than she remembers, and the white dress shirt hanging on his shoulders is unbuttoned. 

It’s only appendicitis, the doctor says, but she is still frightened. Veld walks her all the way to the operating room, holding her hand as she’s wheeled there on a gurney, in so much pain that she could die. 

And when she wakes after surgery, just as the sun is rising, he is there at her bedside, looking pleased to see her awake. 

“Hey, kiddo. Feeling better?”

“I guess so,” she admits, even though the place they made the incision still stings and burns. 

“Yeah, you’re tougher than you look. You gave me a scare, you know.”

“Sorry.” She’s been given the largest suite available. It’s lonely, horribly white, and the TV only gets three channels, all of them Shinra news stations. That’s what she gets, being brought to a Shinra hospital. “Are Father and Rufus coming back to see me?”

Veld looks uncomfortable for a moment, and then clears his throat. “No, little princess . . . they’re going to be a few more days.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Listen to me, Charlotte.” He takes her hand. He means business now. “All my Turks have been asking about you. I told them all you were going into surgery last night, but I definitely didn’t tell them all to feign concern, so you tell me what that means.”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Well, they care about you. We Turks have to look after our own.”

“I’m not a Turk, so it doesn’t matter. I’m a Shinra. And I guess Shinras don’t look after their own.” 

She had asked him once about potentially joining the Turks when she was older, but Veld had shot that down quickly and used his “serious” voice to tell her never to bring it up again. 

“Blood ties are all well and good, but your real family is who you surround yourself with. Who looks out for you when no one else is. And my Turks . . . they’re like my family. We all take care of each other. You gonna remember that for me?”

She doesn’t know what a real family is anymore. “You’re like my family,” she says instead, the truth. 

Veld pats her knee and smiles. “And you know it. Are you going to be okay here for a little bit? The doc’s a good friend of mine. He knows to take care of you, or he’s gonna hear from us Turks.”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’m tired.”

“All right. I’ll make sure you get an individual visit from everyone, and I’ll make sure they don’t come empty-handed.”

“Okay.” It cheers her. He’s to the door of her hospital room when she calls him back. “I love you, Veld. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, little princess.” 

She’ll never be too old to love that nickname. It makes her feel special. It makes her feel loved. 

He turns the dim floor lamp off to give her a darker room to rest in. “I love you, too.”

* * *

She’s fifteen, and she’s starting to realize the effect she has on boys, especially older ones, and realizing that her father is hated by many. 

She’s invited to a beach party by a group of boys she meets at the market, who all smile at her and laugh and flirt with her and tell her how pretty she is. 

She wants to go, but Veld refuses unless he’s allowed to come with her and Charlie refuses to show up with a Turk at her side. 

“Everyone hates me!” she cries, red in the face and screaming at Veld, who maintains a cool expression the entire time. “Everyone hates me because of you! No one wants to hang out with me and my _freak_ bodyguards!”

“You’re not going to that party, and I’m not going to say it again, Charlotte.”

“I _hate_ you!” she screams, but they both know it isn’t true, and she stomps all the way up the stairs and makes as much noise as possible so Veld knows how angry she is.

She sneaks out that night. It’s easy enough. She knows the villa well enough to know which floorboards creak and which stairs to skip while going down them. Veld doesn’t notice a thing, and Charlie runs all the way down to the beach, where the boys and some of their friends have set up a bonfire. 

But she drinks too much and quickly learns the price of drinking too much around a group of strangers. 

The boy who invited her tries to steal a wet kiss from her, but his lips connect to her neck instead and don’t detach again. He is not half as loving as Rufus, and when he reaches up her shirt to grope her breasts, Charlie struggles to push him off. 

His friends laugh as she squirms on the sandy beaches of her favorite city in the world, and she can hear them jeering about taking their own private and personal revenge on Shinra, by getting back at the company by ruining the president’s own daughter. 

They laugh and they laugh and they laugh until Charlie is sobbing, begging for them to stop. 

When Veld shows up, they aren’t laughing anymore, and the boy who tried to take her shirt off will never laugh again, not with the way his jaw had shattered underneath the butt of Veld’s pistol. 

Veld carries her home like his bride, and Charlie sobs into his shoulder. It’s only when he sets her down in bed again that she feels comfortable looking into his face. 

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” That’s his first question. He never does reprimand her about drinking that night. 

“No,” she answers, despite her pride having been torn to shreds.

“Okay. Good.” Veld strokes her hair back with his calloused thumb. The event has left her shaking violently, arms wrapped around herself, looking up into the scarred face of her protector. “Listen to me, Charlotte. If you’re ever in trouble like that, I want you to call me right away, understood? And I’ll come and find you, no questions asked.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Boys like that . . .” he murmurs. “You don’t owe boys like that _anything_ , got it?” She nods. “You are so smart and so funny and so resilient, sweet girl. Boys like that don’t care about your brain, or your heart.”

She wants to tell him that Rufus cares. Rufus cares about her brain, and he laughs at her jokes, and he doesn’t want to break her heart. 

He laughs lightly, trying to make her smile. “You smell like a bar, kiddo.”

“I feel dizzy.”

“That’ll be the booze. You sleep that off, okay? Do you feel like you have to throw up?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She sniffles, pulling the blankets up to her chin. The room is spinning. “I should have listened to you.”

“Well, honestly, I didn’t really think you’d listen in the first place,” he teases.

“I don’t really hate you,” she admits, and she’s sobbing again. She doesn’t want Veld to hate her. She doesn’t want him to think that she feels anything for him other than complete, absolute, unconditional love. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I don’t think you or any of your Turks are freaks.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think any of us are too broken up about it. We’ve been called worse.”

She smiles weakly. “Are you going to tell my father?”

“It’s my job to inform your father of what’s going on.” Veld kisses her temple and gets to his feet, turning her table lamp off. “But as it happens, I’m off the clock tonight and have no obligations to anyone. I’ll see you in the morning, little princess.”

* * *

She’s sixteen, and her safety is primarily left in the hands of rookies now that she’s older and a little more capable of looking after herself. 

If anything, the only reason a Turk stays with her while her father and brother are away is because she’ll be incredibly lonely otherwise. That’s what she suspects Veld’s motives to be, anyway. 

“I don’t think Tseng likes me,” she confesses one day, sitting on the patio of her father’s manor in Midgar. 

Veld is doing paperwork at the glass table, like he always does on nice days. Tseng trains with an older Turk a few yards away, practicing hand-to-hand combat and moving far quicker than he has any right to be moving.

“Why wouldn’t he like you?” Veld asks distractedly. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t do anything to him.”

That makes Veld laugh. Scratchy, gruff, genuine laughter. “I know you didn’t. He just doesn’t know how to handle himself around strong-headed young women. I’m sure he likes you in his own way.” He sets down his pen and calls for the training to come to a stop. “Tseng, the girl wants a show. Put on a good one for her, would you?”

Tseng is wide-eyed and eager to please both his superior and the president’s daughter. “Yes, sir.” 

Their training lasts longer this time. Tseng is able to land a few more hits on the other Turk simply by moving faster. Over their grunting and the scraping of their feet against the dirt, Veld leans close. 

“I’m going to make that boy my protégé.” It’s a secret. Her father doesn’t share any secrets with her. “Look at him, Charlotte. In ten years, he’ll be the finest Turk you’ve ever seen. I just wonder . . . sometimes . . .” 

His eyes are distant. There’s something sad about him. 

“Well, he’ll have you, won’t he?” He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Remember what I told you?”

“We have to look after our own.”

Veld smiles. He ruffles her hair. “Good girl. Look at him now, not me. He’s putting on a good show for you.”

She looks in time to see Tseng pin down the other Turk with a grunt. He looks up at Veld for approval. 

“Give him a round of encouragement, little princess. He’s earned it.”

Charlie claps for Tseng. He looks at her and blushes, pleased with himself.

“Yeah,” Veld grumbles, chortling and returning to his work. “I think he likes you just fine.”

* * *

She’s eighteen, and Veld has sent Tseng the last few times she needed a bodyguard to stay with her for a few days even though she’s old enough to be on her own.

His things have been cleared out of the guest room. 

The only thing that’s at all the same is the gun that Tseng keeps on the nightstand. 

* * *

She’s twenty, and her heart is heavy with sadness.

Her SOLDIER First Class is missing, her favorite Turk hardly speaks to her anymore, and Tseng lies unresponsive in a hospital bed. 

The only sounds in the room are his shallow breathing and the constant beeping of the machine that monitors his heart rate. 

“You should go home and get some rest,” the doctor tells her. 

“No, thank you. I want to be here when he wakes up.”

“As you wish, Miss Shinra.”

When they’re alone again, Charlie smiles weakly down at him. His torso is wrapped in fresh bandages, having had five bullets removed from his chest and abdomen yesterday. 

“I wouldn’t want to wake alone, if it were me,” she whispers to him. 

She slips her hand loosely into his own limp thing, long-fingered and pale and clammy. The only time she’s held his hand before is when he offered her a hand up into or out of a helicopter or a car. 

“We have to look after each other, even if you are just a stupid Turk.” She squeezes his hand. “We’re family, aren’t we? You can’t leave me now.”

When he wakes, she is there, curled up in a chair beside his bed. 

“Charlotte,” he croaks, eyes fluttering open to immediately snap back shut at the fluorescent lighting overhead. 

“Don’t over exert yourself,” she says, holding her hands out in front of her. He’s already trying to sit up. “You’ve been in here for four days. You’re still recovering.”

“Have you been here all this time?”

“Well . . . yeah. I thought you wouldn’t want to wake up alone.”

Tseng scoffs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight while he does it.

“And I was worried.”

“About me?”

“Who else?”

He looks at her for a long time. It’s like he can’t believe she was worried at all about him. 

“I held your hand while you were unconscious,” she admits. “Sorry. It was only for a little, anyway. Your hand was all sweaty.”

Another soft laugh. He wipes his palm on the blanket. When he opens his eyes again, his pupils are dilated wide, eyes slightly glazed over. He’s still being fed medicine through the IV in the back of his right hand. 

“I don’t remember the last time someone held my hand.”

It makes her think of how she felt waking up after her own surgery to find only Veld there, and how such a small gesture had made her feel infinitely better. 

Charlie smiles. She loves him, as she did Veld. Unconditionally. 

“Listen . . .” he sighs. “About Angeal . . .”

She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes despite the tired smile on her face. “It’s okay.”

She slides her hand back into his own until he falls back asleep. 

* * *

She is twenty-three, and sometimes she needs to get away from the city. 

Sometimes she needs time to put herself together again after Reeve manages to once again pierce through the thick walls she’s built around herself. 

Sometimes, she and Tseng share dumbapples on a private part of the beach in Costa del Sol where there’s no one around to bother them. It’s a place untouched by tourists, that’s accessible only by a fifteen minute excursion through thick foliage. 

They don’t have to speak to each other, which is just fine with her. She knows they’re both thinking of old friends. 

It reminds her of days spent eating ice cream with Veld. 

* * *

She is twenty-six, and Tseng is the leader of the Turks now, and she’s trying to forget Veld, the man who claimed to love her so much, the man who left her. 

It’s two o’clock in the morning when she hears the opening and closing of her apartment door. 

She sits up straight, heart fluttering, and listens for a minute. No one is ransacking her things, which strikes her as odd. The only sound is the pouring rain tapping against the roof and windows. 

Reeve is away on a business trip to Junon. It can’t be him. 

She takes the gun from her nightstand, clothes herself, and steps out of her bedroom. 

There’s someone sitting on her sofa. She approaches from behind, putting the gun on a table only when she’s sure she recognizes them. 

“Tseng?” she whispers, creeping around to the front of him. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t move. When she turns a lamp on, it’s to find him soaking wet and dripping all over her furniture, still wearing his Turk uniform, his hands covering his face and his dark hair down, framing his covered face. 

“Tseng,” she says again, kneeling in front of him, reaching out to take hold of his wrists, lowering them. 

His hands are trembling, his skin is cool and slick to the touch. He looks so helpless, his face bloodless. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. She’s afraid, but not of him. 

She doesn’t even care about how he managed to get in so easily. He must have a spare key. 

Tseng doesn’t answer. He looks down at her miserably. 

“What happened?” she asks again, releasing his hands, but he still doesn’t answer. “Hold on, okay?”

She fetches some dry clothes, some of Reeve’s old things. They’ll probably be too big for Tseng, but he accepts them anyway. 

“I’m sorry for coming so late,” he rasps.

“No, don’t be, it’s okay. Don’t worry. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Charlie sighs. “How did you get here?”

“I walked.”

If he’s telling the truth, it means he’s walked across nearly the entire sector. “I’m going to call for a car to pick you up,” she says, “and I’ll take you home, all right?”

Tseng’s hand darts out to grab her wrist tight. His eyes widen slightly. “No.”

“You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“Please,” he chokes out, “can I stay here tonight?”

“Why? Is someone at your apartment? You know I don’t mind throwing out women. I do it for Reno all the time. He calls it ‘taking out the trash’.”

Her joke falls flat. There’s something terribly wrong. “Charlotte,” he tells her seriously, still holding onto her wrist. 

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this job.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the _best_ man for the job,” she protests, gently prying Tseng’s fingers off her wrist. His hands are still shaking. “Veld believed in you, or else he wouldn’t have groomed you for the position.”

“Veld,” he manages to say again, clutching at her hand. He covers his face with his free hand again, letting his hair fall forward as he slumps against the sofa. 

“Did something happen?”

“Yes,” he replies. 

“Are you okay?” Charlie frowns, looking him over. He looks ridiculous in Reeve’s plaid pajama bottoms and Costa del Sol t-shirt. “You never wear your hair down.”

Tseng runs a hand through it, as if just now noticing. 

“It looks nice.” 

She isn’t sure if he’s drunk or not. He doesn’t smell like it. 

“All right, you can stay here tonight, but _just_ for tonight.” He gives her a small smile, but his heart is hardly in it. “And maybe we won’t tell Reeve, either.”

The next morning, Charlie sets up in the Turks’ office, working in silence on a model airplane as Tseng does paperwork, all professionalism again. Last night may not have happened. She might have dreamed that Tseng was on her sofa, soaking wet and close to tears. 

Reno tries his hardest to distract her, pulling her around Midgar to see sights she’s seen a hundred times already, in the hopes that she won’t return to the Shinra Building, to Tseng. 

Reno confronts her about how much time she’s been spending with Tseng lately, and that makes her angry, so angry that she ends up screaming in his face about minding his own business, urging him to leave her alone. 

She will find out much later that Reno only meant well, keeping her away from Tseng. 

She will find out much later that Reno watched Tseng kill Veld. 

* * *

Charlie doesn’t know why these memories plague her restless sleep that night, wrapped up in Rufus’s arms as he presses his cheek to her forehead, sleeping soundly. 

At least she’s going home tomorrow. She’ll be able to see Reeve. Maybe if she’s lucky, he’ll leave work early so they can go home together and she can apologize for what happened and explain that she never meant to hurt him. 

_If_ she’s lucky. She’s never had much luck getting Reeve away from his office. 

She has to admit that Rufus broke a lot easier than she expected him to, but it might have been because of the tears. The tears were very real, at least. A few open-mouthed kisses and sweet words is a fair enough price to pay for being able to return home unharmed. 

But once he started to cry, Charlie couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. Rufus is clearly under an enormous burden—the presidency is weighing heavily on his heart, he’s surrounded by people who would see him fail, and the only person he’s comfortable being so vulnerable with is currently plotting another escape from Midgar and Shinra Incorporated. 

Surely he’s lonely. She knows how that feels.

Charlie touches her brother’s face. She _does_ love him, more than she’s ever loved anyone. He had saved her from a lot of beatings as children, and he was her best friend when she had no one. 

But how could Rufus really believe she would want to stay? How could she stay in Midgar, knowing what she knows now about Tseng? Knowing what she knows now about _Shinra?_

It’s her fault. It’s _all_ her fault.

She had let herself be charmed and flattered by these murderers and liars. They were funny and knew how to have a good time. They took care of her and helped her in a pinch when she needed it. They cared for Cat when she and Reeve had to go away. They did everything for her. 

But the Turks aren’t her friends, and they never have been. She was stupid to think otherwise. She doesn’t care about them—she _hates_ them, especially Tseng, who had killed Veld and forced her to come back to Midgar when she didn’t want to and then kept her in a cell for . . . well, she doesn’t know how long, but it’s _too_ long, whatever it is. 

Hasn’t Reeve been telling her for _years_ that she shouldn’t trust the Turks? He’s never once forgotten what they are or what they’re capable of, always reminding Charlie of their past misdeeds and attitudes. 

But where is she supposed to go? She doesn’t have a phone to contact Cloud, and Reeve likely isn’t going to help her out of the city. What would she even do with Cloud and his group? 

Maybe they could take her to Cosmo Canyon again, and if not, at least they’ll have information about her mother. And they would keep her safe until she figures out a new plan, right? At least with them, she won’t have to be constantly looking over her shoulder, and isn’t chasing Sephiroth what she’s going to be doing with Rufus? 

Does she even _want_ to chase after Sephiroth?

When Rufus wakes, the first thing he does is check the cameras. They’re still turned off, and he steals a kiss from her upon noticing. It’s almost habitual, like they’ve been waking beside each other for years now. It reminds her of the way she covers Reeve in kisses when she wakes up, just because she can. 

Charlie can’t believe how easy it is to fall back into something that feels so routine to her, despite knowing that it’s wrong. She’s old enough to understand what’s going on _shouldn’t_ be going on, and so is Rufus, but the gesture is more comforting than he can possibly know. 

And besides, doesn't she owe him this? Soon, if things go according to the non-existent plan she has, she’ll be gone and removed from Rufus and Tseng and Shinra and Midgar. She needs to start blazing her own trail, and if there’s anyone who can help her do that, it’s the people who hate Shinra most in the world.

Right? Is that what she wants?

Rufus’s lips latch onto her jaw, suckling and nipping lightly at her skin. It leaves her frustrated, tightly wound, and desperate to escape the confines of her cell. 

_If I do what he wants, he’ll let me go._

But that’s a price she isn’t willing to pay. She has someone else she wants to see, someone that she would happily accept kisses and touches from without hesitation.

“I want to see Reeve,” she whispers, and Rufus growls against the warm skin of her chest. “Let me see him.”

“Why would I do that?” he murmurs, lifting his head to scowl at her. “So the two of you can plan your little coup?”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Fine. Maybe I just don’t like the idea of him putting hands all over you.” Rufus’s eyes flash, and she’s certain that he’s holding back the urge to hurt her again. “Get dressed. We’re showing your face in public today so everyone knows that you’re home, safe and sound and happy and _willing_.”

“I want to see Reeve before we leave. I’m stopping by his office.”

Rufus grits his teeth for a moment before his lips twist into a sneer. “No,” he says again. “That won’t be necessary.” His eyes flick down to her left hand as he laces their fingers together, bringing her hand closer to his face. “People will notice you’re not wearing an engagement ring.”

“Going to buy me another one?”

Rufus scoffs. “Get dressed. Don’t make me say it again, or I’ll get angry.”

* * *

It takes all day, and it leaves her completely emotionally drained.

She has to put on a smile for everyone they come into contact with, despite the fact that all she wants to do is cry. It’s painful to smile, but she does it anyway, and she laughs at all of Rufus’s sarcastic little quips and holds onto his arm when he offers and accepts his harmless compliments without question.

She forces herself to think about Reeve, to think about how nice it will be to see him again, to think about how nice it will feel to be held by him again. 

She knows that Reeve will forgive her. She knows him. He’s always waited for her, was always there to comfort her. And she’s certain that this time will not be any different. 

Rufus doesn’t leave her side once all day, and only takes her home in the late afternoon when he decides he has work he needs to do. 

“I’ve stationed SOLDIERs outside your apartment,” he tells her. “They’ll bring you to the hangar tomorrow morning so we can leave for Nibelheim.”

Charlie doesn’t answer, looking out the window as they pull up to her apartment building. 

Her heart is racing. She hopes Reeve is home. 

Rufus doesn’t walk her up, instead choosing to remain in the car as Charlie enters the building and rides the elevator all the way to the top floor.

Two Third Class SOLDIERs are standing guard outside the door, and they all ignore each other as Charlie let’s herself inside with the key Rufus had given her in the car. 

She locks the door behind her immediately, pressing her back to it and sighing. It’s good to be home.

“Reeve?” she calls out, pocketing the key.

That’s when she notices the shoes missing in the narrow little foyer, and the coats missing from the coat rack. 

“Reeve!” she shouts again, her voice breaking.

She’s met with silence. 

She tries one more time, a little quieter, suddenly very frightened. “Reeve?”

When he doesn’t answer that time, Charlie turns the lights on. All of the curtains have been drawn, allowing little light into the apartment. When she enters the living room, she’s met with something far more terrible than any stretch of silence she’s ever experienced.

The apartment has been cleaned out. Pictures and personal effects are missing from shelves and tables, leaving behind only the furniture, the television, the artwork on the walls, and some of the larger decor. 

Reeve’s office is the same. The entire room has been cleared, his desk completely empty. The pictures on the walls have all been taken down, the books lining his shelves are gone, his computer is missing, and the fake plants on the windowsill are conspicuously absent. 

Charlie’s heart leaps into her throat, and she has to force herself to continue on towards their bedroom. She almost shuts down completely to find his clothes gone. Their dresser is half-empty and their closet has far more space than she remembers. His nightstand is bare, as well as the drawer. 

Her backpack, however, sits in the middle of her bed. Nothing has been taken out of it—her two photographs are still there, and her compass and map haven’t been touched, but the gun is gone. She never really expected to be given her gun back. 

There’s little evidence that Reeve had ever lived here at all. All of the drawings of her that had been stashed throughout the apartment in the most random places are now gone with everything else, more than half of the pictures of the both of them have been taken, and her kitchen is nearly completely devoid of food or drink.

He’s even taken Cat. 

She finds herself back in his empty office without remembering how she got there. Charlie runs her hands through her hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as tears well up in her eyes, and it’s so hard to catch her breath, why is it so hard to breathe—

She lowers herself to her knees, unable to stand for another second. Bracing herself against the hardwood floor, Charlie takes a moment to gather her bearings. She pushes herself up against his desk, bringing her knees to her chest, feeling completely hollow, feeling completely empty. 

Charlie cries into her hands, wondering if the SOLDIERs outside her door can hear her sobbing. 

Isn’t that what she wanted? If he’s gone, it at least means he’s safe, doesn’t it? If Reeve has gone for good, then Rufus will have no reason to hate him, to threaten him, to abuse him, right? 

_There’s nothing here for me anymore,_ she thinks. _There’s nothing anywhere for me._

The silence is deafening. It’s suffocating and oppressive. The office seems so empty, so large, so unfamiliar. 

_I have nothing, I have no one._

_I am nothing. I am no one._


	42. Chapter 42

“We’ll be in touch, Tseng.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President.”

Rufus climbs up into the helicopter. Tseng extends a hand for Charlie as she moves to follow, the corners of his lips ticking upward as if sharing an inside joke. She doesn’t think anything is funny at all, but she puts her hand in his gloved one, wanting to squeeze so hard that his hand breaks. 

“Have a safe flight, Madam Vice President,” he tells her, looking at her for a long while and squeezing her hand gently. “I look forward to seeing you again upon your return.”

She wants to spit in his face, to hit him until he feels the same pain that he caused her. She wants to break his heart and leave him to pick up the pieces alone. 

“Good luck with your pursuit,” she manages to choke out, and it sounds confident enough that no one really seems to notice anything is off. 

She wants him to know how it feels to cry himself to sleep for months. She wants him to feel the sting of abandonment. She wants him to know the sting of betrayal by someone _he_ loves. She wants to throw _him_ into a cell and threaten to restrain and force feed him, just to see how he likes it.

“You can let go of my sister’s hand now,” Rufus snaps suddenly, looking mutinously between Charlie and Tseng.

Charlie has no recollection of climbing into the helicopter, only coming back to her senses when she feels Tseng’s hand release her own at the president’s command. 

She scowls upon noticing Palmer sitting in a seat across from Rufus, squeezed in between two stiff-backed guards. He looks very flustered, and very anxious to be joining them on the way to Nibelheim. Charlie wishes he wouldn’t sweat so much, always sweating through those horrible tweed suits. His checkered and clashing tie doesn’t look as if it’s been tied right.

“What is _he_ doing here?” she asks, settling down beside her brother. 

“It was either him, Scarlet, or Heidegger.” Rufus passes her an extra headset as Tseng closes the hatch and walks around the chopper to signal them off. “And you can thank Heidegger for forcing us to use a helicopter. With all the _upgrades_ he’s been making to the _Highwind,_ the ship isn’t even fit for flying as of right now, and the airplanes we still have seem to have fallen into disrepair.”

Charlie sighs, feeling the helicopter lift off the ground shakily. Whoever is flying is certainly not as practiced as she would like. 

“You know,” Rufus continues, looking right at Palmer, “sometimes I don’t know which of you three I hate more.”

Palmer flushes, but Charlie’s just glad that Rufus hasn’t involved Reeve in his circle of most-hated executives. 

“I’ve sent Scarlet and Heidegger ahead,” he explains through his headset. Charlie watches his mouth move. She had kissed that mouth only yesterday, upon waking in the cell he put her in. “They’re going to be flying past Mount Nibel. _We_ are going to make a brief detour through Nibelheim. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

“What’s in Nibelheim?” Charlie asks again.

Rufus’s eyes flit around the helicopter before settling on her again. “We’ll talk more when we land.”

Charlie looks out the window of the helicopter, watching Midgar grow smaller and smaller. No matter how high up they go, the Shinra Building always seems to tower over the city, ominous and foreboding, their castle within their steel kingdom. 

The sky is gray, the sun hidden behind the clouds. It’s not really ideal weather to fly in, but Rufus refused to hear it. He intended to go today, no matter what.

“Isn’t Nibelheim where Sephiroth supposedly died?” Charlie asks suddenly. “I remember the report saying there had been an accident. Wasn’t that in Nibelheim?”

“Supposedly, yes,” Rufus answers. He strokes his chin for a moment. “Palmer, you look nervous. Does the idea of meeting Sephiroth face-to-face again frighten you so?”

Palmer exhales through his nose, pursing his lips. 

“Look at my brave sister, Palmer. She shows no fear, and she witnessed the very same thing you did, didn’t she? What exactly do I pay you for anyway?” Rufus turns away, folding his arms over his chest and looking out the window. 

Charlie shoots daggers at Palmer. She supposes he’s the lesser evil when compared to Scarlet or Heidegger, but still . . .

“What have you done with Reeve?” She wishes he could have come along. It would be nice to see him again after knowing that he’s taken the initiative to move out of their apartment. “Isn’t he coming with us, too?”

“No, I’ve left him behind to look after the city while we’re away,” Rufus replies, smiling smugly at Charlie for a moment before returning to the window. “It’s not like any of the other directors are capable. Palmer, you could stand to learn a thing or two from Director Tuesti. At the very least, he could teach you to say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ without stuttering.”

Rufus looks Palmer up and down, scrunching his nose.

“And maybe he could teach you how to dress, as well. Have you ever been to a tailor in your life?”

Charlie can’t say she has any sympathy for Palmer. It’s nice to see him squirm, growing red around the collar. 

Rufus is petty when he’s nervous. He chews anxiously on his bottom lip, and Charlie very much wishes they were alone so she could twine their fingers together to let him know it will be all right. 

She can’t help but feel it will be a very long flight. 

* * *

In a village on the other side of Mount Nibel, they all decide to take a long rest. The sky is turning grayer by the moment, threatening rain, and it’s been a very long journey for everyone. There’s going to be a bad storm tonight, and he’s glad they’ve found shelter instead of having to camp out in a tent.

“Look, Cait Sith! It’s Charlie!”

Cait Sith turns quickly, bewildered, to find Aerith looking through a gossip magazine that she’s picked up from a cart with a bored-looking vendor. She pays five gil for it, walking away from the magazine stand to show Cait the cover. 

Sure enough, Charlotte is on the cover, a candid picture of her and Rufus, hand-in-hand and leaving a restaurant together. THE MOST POWERFUL SIBLINGS IN THE WORLD, the cover says, and the magazine claims to have all the delicious news from Midgar, not that Reeve really needs to read it. 

He’s plenty aware of what’s going on in Midgar, even though Charlie isn’t in the city anymore. Rufus had forced her onto a helicopter first thing in the morning, leaving with the rest of the executives for an impulsive trip to Nibelheim. 

The two of them had pored over classified and confidential information for hours last night, looking for anything that might explain how Nibelheim survived a supposed fire. They searched the bowels of the Shinra Building, found secret doorways in the archives that led to more sensitive information pertaining primarily to war crimes committed by Shinra during the war, and Rufus had even gone through all of Hojo’s old things in the hopes of finding some _clue_ as to what he might be up to.

Despite searching for hours, looking feverishly through the online databases, and hacking into the late president’s old files, neither Reeve nor Rufus can find an explanation for the state that Nibelheim is in. Every report they come across is filled with the same information. 

The mako reactor had malfunctioned, causing a freak explosion that killed Sephiroth, the other SOLDIER that had been dispatched with him (along with two other infantrymen who never returned to the company), but nothing about a fire had ever been noted.

Rufus had found a report dated a few years later, written by a scientist who had moved into the Shinra Manor, but it contained nothing of importance, only a plea to President Shinra for more supplies. 

But reports _are_ missing, and there’s no denying it. If the village had been burned to the ground, Reeve knows there would have been damage assessments and information gathering. There are no plans to rebuild, nothing that suggests anyone went to Nibelheim at all after the accident, no casualties are mentioned by name except for Sephiroth, and even that information is sketchy, knowing what they know now. 

There is nothing to support Cloud and Tifa’s claims, and Reeve isn’t quite sure whether he should make that information known to his group or not.

No, not his group, Cait Sith’s group. No, not Cait Sith’s group. Cloud’s group. He has to remember that these people aren’t his friends. 

Lingering behind their other companions, Aerith and Cait Sith look through the magazine for a minute, just to see if there’s anything important or interesting that might catch their eye.

The center of the magazine has a spread of pictures, however, all of them involving Charlie. Some of them are pictures from previous photo shoots she’s done in the past, while others are candid shots of Charlie and Rufus, or Charlie and her father, or Charlie and a Turk, or Charlie and _him_. 

The photo on the cover of the magazine is featured at the top of an article, as well, and a headline that reads:

**DITCHED DIRECTOR!**

Reeve grumbles to himself, reading the additional print below the headline.

_Vice President Charlotte Shinra spotted outside The Gallery Cuisine without her beau or engagement ring upon returning to Midgar after being away on what inside sources call an “extended business trip.”_

“Well . . .” Aerith sighs, eyes flicking across the pages. “It looks like she’s all right, doesn’t it? Oh, look! There’s Tseng, too.”

Cait Sith looks to where she points with her index finger, to a picture that must have been taken recently, taken at the market in Costa del Sol, the photographer clearly having been hiding and waiting for this moment. It’s taken at an awkward angle, but Reeve is able to see the dumbapple in Charlie’s hand, even through Cait Sith’s eyes, and Tseng’s hand on her lower back, as if very eager to be away from that place. 

**DANGEROUS ROMANCE!**

_Vice President Charlotte Shinra spotted in the famous resort town Costa del Sol, with a member of Shinra Inc.’s infamous Turks. Sources say the two are “very close” and locals confirm they’ve spent much time together in Costa del Sol over the years._

“Hey! What’cha got your hands on, Aerith?” Barret calls from ahead of them. 

Cloud and Tifa have already gone ahead to the inn. No one had stopped them. Surely their experience in Nibelheim has left them emotionally drained, and Reeve certainly wasn’t going to insist they continue their journey until they felt ready enough. 

“Don’t tell me you spent your hard earned change on a gossip rag?” Barret scoffs, walking over to Aerith and Cait Sith, flanked by a curious Yuffie, a severely out of place Vincent, and a panting Nanaki. 

“But it had Charlie on the front,” Aerith pouts, holding up the magazine for them all to see it. “I wanted to see if there was any information inside.”

“Ugh,” Yuffie says, scrunching her nose. “I can’t stand lookin’ at that guy.” She means Rufus. Reeve doesn’t think he’s ever heard any woman ever say that about the president. 

Vincent looks at the photograph for a long time, finally lifting his golden claw to gesture at the cover with his finger. “Who is that girl?”

“That’s Charlotte Shinra, the late president’s daughter. She’s the vice president,” Aerith explains, pointing her out before touching Rufus’s face with an index finger. “And that’s her brother, Rufus, the president. She was traveling with us for a little bit, not too long ago.”

“Why?”

“In the end, she wanted to get to Cosmo Canyon,” Aerith sighs. “But she never made it. The Turks found her in Gongaga and brought her back to Midgar. We haven’t heard from her since.”

Reeve still feels guilty about that. After all, isn’t it his fault that Charlie had been locked in a cell within the Shinra Building? If he hadn’t told Tseng where to find Charlie, would she have made it to Cosmo Canyon with the rest of them?

“Good riddance,” Barret interjects, putting a hand on his hip. “You know what they say about her in the slums, don’t’cha?” He looks very seriously at Vincent, as if it’s imperative that Vincent understands what he’s going to say. “Rumor has it that she and her brother are a lot closer than regular siblings. _A lot_ closer.”

Aerith flashes him a dubious look, stuffing the magazine away into her satchel. “I don’t think that’s true. She was engaged to be married, and it definitely wasn’t to her brother.”

“I didn’t know Charlie was engaged,” Yuffie muses, looking rather impressed. “Who was the guy?”

“Doesn’t matter. It was just to cover up what was really goin’ on between her and the _president_ ,” Barret continues.

“Those are just rumors,” Cait Sith supplies helpfully, but Barret doesn’t seem thrilled to be meeting some pushback from another so-called ally. “You shouldn’t put stock into something so horrible!”

Yuffie makes a loud noise of disgust. “Wait a minute! You mean they’re . . . you know . . . ?”

“They’re fuckin’.” Barret seems to realize too late that he probably shouldn’t have said that, but he doesn’t apologize for it. “Anyway, at least now we can tell Tifa that Charlie looks perfectly fine in those pictures. No bruises, no broken bones, no burns or scars or cuts or bullet holes. She got off easy, if you ask me.”

“Who was she engaged to?” Vincent asks again. 

Reeve can’t help but feel his chest tighten in the office he’s made himself in the house at Kalm. Vincent has hardly shown interest in getting to know anyone so far, and the fact that his first questions are in regards to Charlie doesn’t sit well with him.

Barret answers while Aerith pulls the magazine back out, flipping through the pages again. “Doesn’t matter what his name is. All those suits are the damn same.”

“Here,” Aerith says, and Cait Sith looks down to find a picture of Charlie and Reeve looking back at him. “Reeve Tuesti, Director of Urban Development.”

Despite no one being able to see him, Reeve finds himself blushing as Aerith puts his picture on display for everyone to see. 

“Look at that million gil suit he’s wearin’,” Barret complains, growing to himself. “He ain’t no different than the rest.”

“I have a hard time believing Charlie would agree to marry someone like Heidegger, or Hojo,” Aerith chides him, giving Barret a playful _whack!_ on the arm with the magazine. “Besides, as it happens, I’ve heard wonderful things about him before.”

“Well don’t keep us hanging on the edge of our seats,” Yuffie snorts. “I gotta know what you’ve heard. Nothing _good_ comes out of Shinra, Aerith, and that includes Charlie and her boy toy.”

Aerith gives Yuffie a disappointed look, but still smiles weakly. “He and Charlie frequented the Leaf House.” She looks at Vincent, Yuffie, and Nanaki for a moment. “It’s the orphanage by my house in the Midgar slums. The children there absolutely adore the two of them.”

“It’s not hard to buy affection when you have more money than all the people of Midgar combined,” Barret says, shaking his head. Yuffie nods her agreement very dramatically. “And I thought we were going to see twenty-thousand more gil when she got back to Midgar. She cheated us.”

“I don’t think she cheated us,” Aerith insists, tucking the magazine away one more time. “I think something’s wrong. Twenty-thousand is nothing to her. Why would she cheat us?”

“Too late to go back for her or the money now. Let’s go, Nanaki,” Barret says, and Nanaki seems surprised as being addressed so suddenly, but follows behind Barret as they make their way towards the inn. 

Yuffie and Vincent leave Aerith and Cait Sith standing in the village square. “I’m sure Charlie’s okay,” Cait Sith reassures her, offering her a small smile. “She’s probably just been busy with the city. Don’t forget, they’re still dealing with the aftermath of Sector Seven.”

“You’re right,” she says, smiling back at him. “I know I shouldn’t be so worried, it’s just . . .” Aerith hums and gives her head a little shake, but doesn’t finish her thought, leaving Cait Sith behind as she catches up to her friends.

It’s starting to rain.

* * *

“It’s getting dark,” Charlie protests, looking out the window at the sky again. The further they get from Midgar, the darker the sky gets, and she’s sure that it will begin to storm soon. “We should find a town and settle down for a little bit. Once the sky clears up, we can continue on.”

“We can’t stop now,” Rufus replies through his headset. “Time is of the essence. We’ll be fine, and the storm will pass. We’ll be there shortly. I think we’ve just passed the Gold Saucer . . . or at least, I know it must be around here somewhere.”

But the storm doesn’t pass, and through the windshield, it’s getting harder and harder to see as rain begins to _tap-tap-tap_ against the glass. Even the pilot suggests they find a place to land, but Rufus forces him onward, even with the wind causing the helicopter to sway violently from side to side.

“We’ll be fine,” Rufus repeats to everyone within the helicopter, ignoring the sounds of Palmer vomiting into a paper bag. “It’s just a little rain.”

“Rufus, this land is covered with mountain ranges,” Charlie sighs, gripping the side of the helicopter. “If we clip one because of the storm—”

“We’ll be _fine_ ,” Rufus hisses at her, and then, to the pilot, he says, “Keep going. We need to get to Nibelheim.”

But the rain, wind, and storm doesn’t let up. 

It continues to grow darker, so dark that Charlie isn’t certain how the pilot is able to see where he’s flying. Palmer continues to vomit, sweating heavily and paling whenever he glances at the window, and the two guards on either side of him look a little green, as well. 

Rufus touches her forearm, and Charlie jumps. “Put your seatbelt on,” he instructs her, gentle and firm at the same time. 

She wastes no time in obeying his command, buckling herself into the helicopter and trying to force herself to keep breathing. The chopper jerks, jostling everyone around. One of the guards swears, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head on his seat.

Rufus moves closer to her, as if sensing her fear. “It’ll be fine,” he tells her, and Charlie nods. She’s afraid, terribly frightened. The sky is growing darker and the rain falls upon them in sheets. His voice is much kinder when he next speaks. “Charlotte, listen to me. It’s all right.”

She nods again, grateful when Rufus takes her hand in his own, squeezing tight and bringing her fingers to his lips for a moment. The wind rocks the helicopter again, and Charlie squeezes her brother’s hand so tightly that her knuckles turn white. 

For a few minutes, Charlie thinks they’re in the clear. The pilot seemingly has a good grip on the helicopter again, and though the rain drives down and nearly blinds them all to their surroundings, the flight begins to steady out despite the wind. 

Rufus’s hand is clammy and shaky in hers, but she has the grace to pretend not to notice. It may very well be her own hand that’s so sweaty and trembling. 

And then, the wind blows them once again, and from the front of the helicopter, a high-pitched alarm squeals over the sound of the pouring rain. Charlie screams as the helicopter is jerked to one side, and there’s a sudden _crash!_ that certainly would have thrown her out of the chopper if the hatch was open. 

Within seconds, the chopper rumbles and is suddenly spinning in circles as everyone shouts at each other. The tail has clipped a mountain peak, just as she predicted, and Charlie’s heart is hammering against her chest as Palmer’s vomit misses the bag and coats his shined shoes, causing the entire helicopter to reek of sick.

 _I’m going to die here,_ she thinks to herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight as the spinning makes her nauseous. _I’m going to die before I see Mother. I’m going to die before I even get to Nibelheim._

“ _Charlie!_ ”

Charlie’s eyes snap open and Rufus’s hand takes hold of her chin. It is not violent or painful, but firm. He turns her face to look at him. 

“Look at me, Charlie,” he says, and she’s amazed that he’s able to be so calm right now. “We’re going to be all right. Just hang in there—”

_This is how the Shinra line ends. The remaining Shinras holding hands in a spinning helicopter._

“Brace yourselves!” calls the pilot. 

Charlie seeks out Rufus’s hand this time, gripping it as tight as she can. If she’s going to die, at least she’s going to die with her brother, with Rufus, with this man she loves so much. At least she doesn’t have to die alone. Her only regret is that she can’t hold him, that she can’t bury her face into his neck before she dies. 

Rufus is looking at her, and there’s fear in his eyes now that she looks closer. The alarms going off and the small explosion that sounds from the rear of the chopper as the tail falls to the ground frightens her more, and they’re still spinning spinning spinning—

“It’s all right, Charlie, don’t worry—” Rufus says, and she can hardly hear him over all the screaming that’s coming through her headset. The guards are both beginning to panic now, but there’s nothing they can do as they—“Hold on, Charlie—I’ve got you—”

She loves him, and she loves the way he attempts to comfort her, even in the face of death. “Rufus—”

“I know,” he replies, and she’s sure that he does, “I know, Charlie.”

He squeezes her hand again, and they don’t look away from each other as the helicopter crashes hard to the ground, knocking her unconscious.

* * *

She isn’t sure how long she’s been out, but she wakes with a splitting headache and the wind completely knocked out of her, with Rufus’s fingers gently tapping her cheek, his voice calling out to her over and over and over again, louder and louder and louder until he’s nearly screaming in her face, _“Charlie!_ ” 

It takes her eyes a moment to focus, and when they do, she notices the blood running down the right side of her brother’s face. Her seatbelt is still on, holding her in place as she slumps forward, the belts pressing tight against her chest, which hurts terribly.

“Come on,” Rufus says gently, a note of panic in his voice. He unbuckles her seat belt and she falls forward into his arms, closing her eyes as his comforting arms envelope around her for a moment. “Don’t do that, Charlie. It’s not funny. I thought you were dead.”

He presses a lingering and crushing kiss to her forehead, and then one more for good measure. 

“We have to go,” he says again, throwing one of her arms around his shoulders before sweeping her off her feet and carrying her out of the helicopter like she weighs nothing. 

It’s still pouring rain, causing her hair to stick right to her face. It’s _cold_ rain, sending a chill rippling throughout her entire body, drenching her clothes.

She doesn’t really think she can walk right now. Her knees feel weak and her legs are shaking violently. Charlie smiles at Rufus, patting his chest. The rain is washing off some blood from his face, turning it pink against his milky skin. 

“My hero,” she croaks, watching a genuine, proud little smile spread across her brother’s face. 

Rufus sets her down when they’re a safe distance away from the helicopter. He kneels at her side as they watch flames engulf their only transportation, and Charlie looks around to find the pilot missing, only to see him slumped over the dashboard moments before the fire takes him. 

Palmer and the two guards have survived, but Palmer is complaining loudly of his foot, which had been injured again in the crash, and the two guards are waved away by Rufus when they attempt to come near Charlie. 

“Are you all right?” Rufus asks quietly, fussing over her hair and clothes, removing his jacket to wrap it around her shoulders. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.” Charlie brushes some of his hair out of his eyes. His jacket doesn’t warm her very much, given that it’s waterlogged now, but it’s the gesture that counts. “Oh! My backpack!”

“It’s gone now,” he murmurs, sighing frustratedly. “Along with my things, as well. It doesn’t matter, though—you’re safe.” He seems slightly distant, glancing over his shoulder at the wreckage. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “And I’m fine.”

“That was terrifying,” she confesses, holding the jacket tighter around her shoulders. “I thought we were all going to die.”

Her heart is still racing. The adrenaline hasn’t yet faded. While she pushes herself slowly to her feet, Rufus pulls out his phone and checks for service. He lifts it to his ear for a minute before dialing another number and waiting another minute. 

“Scarlet and Heidegger aren’t answering,” he grumbles, pushing his hair out of his face. 

“You don’t think the storm got them, too?” Charlie asks breathlessly, shivering. Truthfully, she wouldn’t shed many tears, if any at all, if she learned that they hadn’t survived a helicopter accident. 

Rufus purses his lips, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry. I could kiss you right now, I'm so happy. I really thought you were dead, Charlie.”

“I’m okay,” she answers, pecking him on the cheek. His skin is ice cold. “We need to get out of this rain. Is everyone all right?”

No one is seriously injured, but Palmer is going to have to hobble with the thick cast around his foot.

“Mr. President, I think I know where we are,” says one of the guards, removing his helmet so show off a deathly pale face, his dark and curly hair stuck to his forehead. “I think we’ve overshot our course. This is Mount Nibel, but I think Nibelheim is on the other side.”

“We can’t climb Mount Nibel tonight,” Charlie tells Rufus. “And until the storm stops, we can’t, in good conscience, call for another helicopter.”

“Well, we need _some_ form of transportation,” Rufus hisses, slicking his hair back and chewing on his lip. And then, he narrows his eyes, turning to face Charlie and grinning very slowly. “Hold on. If this is the other side of Mount Nibel, then we’re awfully close to Rocket Town, aren’t we, sister?”

Charlie falters. The last place she wants to go with Rufus is Rocket Town. “It’s a few days on foot.”

“There’s a village nearby,” says the bare-faced guard again. “A few hours on foot, but we might be able to find a car there.”

Rufus and Charlie look at each for a moment. “We could take that plane of his,” he pants, raising his eyebrows at her. “You and me.”

Charlie grits her teeth and shakes her head. “Leave him alone, Rufus.”

“We’ll only be borrowing it. You’ll make sure nothing happens to it, right?” Rufus turns towards the guard again. “All right. Palmer is going to have to stay here, but the rest of us can—”

“You and the other guard can stay here with Palmer,” Charlie interrupts, and Rufus frowns deeply. “Stay by the mountain and keep out of the rain. I’ll go to the village, too. Unless you have money that hasn’t been melted down in the fire?”

Truthfully, Charlie just wants to get away from the crash. The sky overhead is so dark that the flames are their only source of light, the sun completely hidden behind black storm clouds. She knows Rufus will never make it on foot—he’ll be complaining within the first thirty minutes.

But she knows what it’s like to travel now, and a few hours on foot doesn’t seem so bad. 

“We’ll come back with a car,” she promises, and Rufus has no choice but to let them go. 

By the time Charlie and the guard (she learns that his name is Benji and that he’s only twenty-three-years-old) make it to the village, the rain is beginning to let up, but lightning still brightens the sky every now and then, and a few seconds later, the rumbling of distant thunder accompanies it. 

After explaining to a mechanic what’s happened (leaving out a few key details such as the helicopter crashing, instead telling him they were forced to make an emergency landing), he’s able to point them in the direction of a car that they’ll be able to use, very pleased to know that she’s unhurt.

Before driving back to get Rufus, however, Charlie enters the inn in the hopes of finding dry clothing. The receptionist lets her keep everything, and is glad to hear that she and Rufus will be staying in their humble village for the night. It’s a bit much, but Charlie thanks her all the same, asking for a private place to change.

As she and Benji make their way back to the car, something catches Charlie’s eye that makes her stop abruptly in the middle of the roadway, staring at the place where she could have sworn she just saw a cat with a . . .

“Will you excuse me for just a minute?” she says distractedly to Benji, pushing the clothes she bought for Rufus into his arms. “Start the car, would you? I’ll only be a moment.”

“Yes, Madam Vice President.”

Charlie darts towards the side of the shop where she’s just seen the flash of black and white. With her heart still pumping courage through her veins, she squeezes in between the buildings and into the shadowy alleyway, trying to quiet her breathing—

“Charlie!”

She gasps, her foot touching something. “Cait Sith? Is that you?”

“Sure is,” he replies sweetly, and she can feel small gloved hands patting at her leg. “What a real treat, meeting you here.”

Charlie reaches down for him, taking him by the hand and hoisting him up into her arms like a child, moving further down the alleyway until they’re graced with some dim yellow lighting from the back of a shop.

“I’m so happy to see you right now. What are you doing here?” she asks him, setting him on the ground underneath a steel awning and kneeling in front of him. “Is everyone else here, too?”

“Aye,” Cait Sith replies, glancing around anxiously. “We only arrived earlier today after crossing Mount Nibel. But what are _you_ doing here?”

“Rufus and I, we were on our way to Nibelheim. He wants to join the hunt for Sephiroth,” she explains quickly, worried that the guard might come looking for her any moment, only to report back to her brother that she’s been talking to someone associated with Avalanche. “Our helicopter crashed a few hours from here—”

“ _What?_ ”

“Everyone’s all right,” she reassures him, holding her hands out. “I mean, the pilot _did_ die, but Rufus is still alive, as well as Palmer.” Charlie reaches out to touch his shoulders lightly. “Listen, you can’t stay here. You have to leave. I came here for a car, and I’m going to bring Rufus back with me to stay the night. You all can’t be here when we come back.”

Cait Sith is quiet for a moment. He’s so still that she isn’t sure he’s even able to reply, but then he does. “Are you okay? What happened to you?”

She smiles weakly. “That doesn’t matter. Tell everyone that you’ve got to go.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Charlie hesitates, but nods after a few seconds. “Tomorrow, Rufus wants to go to Rocket Town. Someone we know there has a plane that he wants to use to continue after Sephiroth, now that our helicopter is downed.” She lowers her hands from Cait Sith’s shoulders. “I need you guys to stop him. I need you to stop Rufus from taking the _Tiny Bronco._ ”

“I’ll bring it up to the others, I promise.”

“Okay.” She’s quiet again, listening to the rain slapping against the cobblestone alley. When she breathes, it puffs out in front of her like smoke. “Cait . . .”

“Yeah?”

Exhaling shakily, she has a feeling that Cait Sith already knows what she wants to ask. “Did you make it to Cosmo Canyon?” she whispers, like it’s a secret. Her heart is ready to leap out of her throat, to burst through her chest, to stop completely—

“We did.”

She doesn’t want to know, but something about the way Cait Sith’s shoulders are slightly slumped gives her the answer she’s been seeking. “Did you see my mother?” she asks again. 

There’s a moment’s hesitation on his end. “I asked about your mother, but . . .”

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” It doesn’t sound like her voice when she asks. 

Cait looks down at his feet. “I put flowers at her grave. I’m so sorry.”

It takes her a moment to digest this. “Thank you,” she rasps, and she means it. 

She wants to cry, but knows that now isn’t the time. She’s surprised how much more the news about Veld had hurt. It feels just like it did with her father—it had stung at first, the realization of what happened, the shock of it, and then . . . the numbness, the guilt of not grieving enough. 

She hardly knew her mother. It’s only natural that she should feel conflicted about it. 

“Charlie,” Cait Sith says, grabbing onto a few of her fingers and squeezing. “It’s really good to see you again.”

She smiles, and perhaps it’s the idea that maybe she was _missed_ by these people that brings tears to her eyes. “It’s really good to see you, too.”

* * *

“Rufus, _please_ , just leave Cid alone. We can wait here until another helicopter comes.”

“We’re wasting time!” he snaps, stepping up to the window and looking out into the night. “Every moment we delay, Sephiroth gets further and further away from us. We should have left for Rocket Town the moment we got the car.”

“Look at what happened when you were in such a rush,” she counters quickly. “We almost died—”

Rufus whirls around, spinning on his heels to face her. He is clearly stricken. “You scared the hell out of me, Charlie.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I know, I just—” He sighs, combing his fingers through his hair. He’s just as anxious as she is, pacing around the room in the clothes Charlie had bought for him from the gift shop. “I’m glad you’re all right. I would never have forgiven myself if something happened to you.”

“That’s very touching,” Charlie smiles, lying back on the pillows and resting her hands behind her head. The ceiling fan goes around and around and around, just like the helicopter had. “Listen, you realize that there is no way that Cid will let you touch his plane.”

“Well, I’m certain having you around will change his tune,” her brother scoffs, pulling his phone out of his pocket again and wiping the screen with a sleeve. “He can’t refuse us anything. If the president and the vice president show up together, he’s in no position to deny us what is rightfully ours.”

Truthfully, the _Tiny Bronco_ belongs one-hundred-percent to Cid. Perhaps some of the parts came from Shinra, but he had put the airplane together himself. 

“Besides, I have an idea.” Rufus smiles and holds up his index finger to quiet her as he lifts his phone to his ear. He waits for a few seconds and then says, “Captain Cid Highwind! How are you? It’s President Rufus Shinra.”

Charlie can hear the furious cursing of Cid on the other line, unable to make out just what he’s saying, but knowing that it can’t be good.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty with your judgement, Captain,” Rufus continues, examining his fingernails critically, looking far too smug. “I think you might like my proposition. Care to hear it?”

More yelling.

“Actually, my lovely sister has convinced me of something wonderful,” he lies, looking up at Charlie again. She scowls at him, wanting nothing to do with this. “She has convinced me to reopen the Space Exploration Department. Doesn’t that sound fantastic?”

Less yelling.

“That’s what I thought. Now, perhaps we could meet sometime tomorrow afternoon? Say . . . noon? I’m sure my sweet sister can find your house for us.”

Another few seconds of silence.

“Oh? I didn’t mention that? I’ll let her know that you’re just _delighted_ to see her again, Captain. See you tomorrow.” Rufus hangs up the call and shrugs, far more at ease than he had been a few minutes ago. “That was easy. Gods, he’s a nightmare. Someone needs to teach him a little respect. No matter. We’ll be after Sephiroth again in no time.”

The falsely cheerful way he speaks is grating. Charlie can’t help but think she’s watching him become more and more unhinged by the day, his emotions always ranging from one end of the spectrum to another without warning, his anger becoming more volatile. 

She can’t help but think about their mother. She wonders if she should tell Rufus, but decides not to, in the end. Charlie isn’t quite sure how Rufus feels about their mother, but she knows that she was far closer to their mother than Rufus ever was, not like she remembers anything now. 

Maybe it’s best to go on letting Rufus believe she died in some gutter a long time ago, penniless and heartbroken. 

“Why don’t you get some rest?” he suggests, surprisingly soft. “We’ve had a long day. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m sure. I had you there to protect me.”

Rufus smiles sadly, leaning against the wall to look at her. “I would be good to you, Charlotte.”

Charlie blushes, reaching out for his hand. She’s so glad he’s alive, so glad that he’s here, so glad that she doesn’t have to live the rest of her life without him. “I know you would.”


	43. Chapter 43

“I just got off the phone with Tseng.”

Charlie isn’t interested in anything he has to say about Tseng, so she doesn’t answer, but that doesn’t stop Rufus.

“We’re heading the wrong way. Sephiroth isn’t going north.” He laces up his shoes, pulling the strings tight. “He’s headed south, towards the Temple of the Ancients.”

She frowns at herself in the mirror, pulling the brush through her hair. They should have left two hours ago to make it to Rocket Town by noon, but Charlie isn’t complaining. If Cloud and the others had taken chocobos out of town like she suggested to Cait Sith, they’ll outpace the car and arrive before she and Rufus do. 

“Have you ever heard of the Temple of the Ancients?”

“No,” she answers, “never.”

“We’ll have to cross the ocean to get there.”

“Fine.”

Truthfully, she’s very nervous about seeing Cid again. She isn’t sure how he’ll react to her being there, or what he’ll say when he finds out they’re only there for the _Tiny Bronco._

Maybe he can help her. Maybe Avalanche can help her. If Avalanche could get to the Temple of the Ancients first . . . after all, wouldn't it make sense to have Aerith there?

And why wouldn’t she go with them? What’s left for her in Midgar? Isn’t she safer with Avalanche? They wouldn’t keep her locked away in the Shinra Building. They wouldn’t hurt her. She has information that they need—she knows what Rufus is trying to do and where he’s trying to go. 

“If it would please you, we can wait for Tseng to join us.”

“I don’t care what you do, Rufus. Tseng isn’t my friend.”

“You’re such a _goddamn_ liar, Char,” Rufus snarls, standing up from the foot of the bed and brushing off the front of his sweater. He steps up behind her, looking at their reflections and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I know what he said to you. I know why you’re upset.”

Charlie continues to brush her hair. “You knew the whole time.”

“Of course I did.” He places his hands upon her waist and presses a kiss to the crook of her neck. Charlie tenses, her breath hitching. “It was necessary. Once a Turk, always a Turk. You know that. And Veld knew that. He knew what would happen to him if he tried to leave.”

“I loved him.”

Rufus scoffs against her skin. “You, Reeve, even Tseng . . . you’re all bleeding hearts when it comes to the people you care about,” he murmurs, but it sounds like he’s mocking her. “You could never make the difficult choices. That’s why I’m the president, and not you.”

That sounds rather familiar, she can’t help but think. It seems Rufus becomes more like their father every day. 

“And if you recall, I saved the rest of your Turks from being executed,” he continues in a cold voice, speaking right into her ear. “I did that for you, sister. Surely you haven’t forgotten I did that for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“You didn’t have to. Look at me.” He waits for her to turn her head, his face mere inches away from hers. “We were never anything other than _jobs_ to those people.”

She doesn’t answer right away. She wants to hate the Turks. She was stupid to believe it was anything other than a job for them. But that doesn’t quite sound like Veld . . . someone who had gone to extreme lengths to keep her happy, who had let her sleep in his bed when she was scared at night, who had helped her with school work over a home-cooked dinner. 

The moment she averts her eyes, Rufus releases her and storms out of the bedroom. 

Charlie can’t stop fidgeting all the way to Rocket Town. Palmer talks longingly of the rocket and passively remarks about his department’s slashed budget the entire way, which fills the silence, but Charlie hasn’t forgotten about how he had wanted to scrap the Shinra No. 26 for parts he wouldn’t even know what to do with. 

It’s a bright and cold day, heavily contrasting against the stormy skies and black clouds that were visible last night. She wonders if Heidegger and Scarlet have made it to their destination, and wonders where Tseng is now, if he’s on his way to the Temple of the Ancients or not. 

But once she finishes dwelling on her brother’s people, Charlie is able to focus more on her own people. Halfway to Rocket Town, she spies the remnants of a camp—no one else notices, but she’s far too familiar with the sight now to ignore it—and chocobo prints headed in the direction of Rocket Town. 

She feels able to breathe again, knowing that Avalanche has a head start, but the idea of seeing Cid again is still making her hands tremble. She wipes her palms on her pants, a pair of jeans that are slightly too tight around her waist, but it was the only size she could find in the gift shop.

“Charlie, you _have_ to stop bouncing your leg. You’re shaking the whole car.”

Charlie meets Rufus’s eyes for a split second. “Sorry.”

“You’re nervous, I understand.” Rufus smiles smugly at her from the backseat. Benji continues the drive, while the other guard and Palmer sit up front. “You’re not engaged anymore. Do you think he’ll notice?”

“That’s not it,” she scolds him softly, holding her hands in her lap. “That has nothing to do with this.”

But she’s certain that Cid will make mention of it. She knows Cid, and knows that he’ll be smug when he brings it up, but she’s certainly not going to tell him anything. It’s none of his business. She needs to stop thinking about it or else it’s going to drive her—

“Look at that!”

Charlie leans forward to look out the windshield. One of the guards is pointing to the looming figure of her rocket, more crooked than it was the last time she had come here. It stands tall over the surrounding trees, and her heart rate picks up again as she looks for a sign of Avalanche the closer than get to the town. 

Rocket Town is unchanged. The leaves have fallen off the trees, but the town square is just as she remembers it. People are out shopping in groups, and a few teenagers linger at the sign that bars people from getting any closer to the rocket. 

“Let’s just get the _Tiny Bronco_ and get out of here,” Rufus says quietly as Charlie stops at the fountain that marks the center of town. 

“Madam Vice President!”

Charlie turns to her right to find someone familiar huffing and puffing over to her, his cheeks flushed. She puts on a smile. “Hello, Oster. It’s good to see you again.”

He nods slightly at the sight of Rufus. “Mr. President. We’re honored to have the both of you here today.”

Glancing at her brother, Charlie puts a hand on Oster’s shoulder and moves a few paces away, just so Rufus won’t be able to listen in on their conversation. He crosses his arms, seemingly insulted by Charlie’s decision to leave him out of it. 

“We’re here to see Cid,” she explains softly, smiling at him so as not to cause any further suspicion. “But have you seen anyone else come into town today? A yellow-haired man, a toy cat, a man with a gun for an arm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Oster answers right away, surprising her. “I think they’re at the Captain’s house now. But I have to warn you, ma’am, the Captain’s pissed at you. Pardon my language, Miss Shinra.”

“What? Why?” she asks quickly, the smile fading from her face. “Why is he mad at me?”

Oster pauses, his thick eyebrows knitting together. “You didn’t know? About two weeks ago, some suit came sniffin’ round with a couple of soldiers. Beat him up pretty bad. Had to have a doc called in from out of town to fix his jaw.”

“What are you . . . what?” Charlie scoffs. “What happened? Who was it? What did he look like?”

He thinks for a minute. “Tall, long hair, ponytail, and he . . .” Oster shifts uncomfortably and then taps his index finger to his forehead, right in the middle. “And, you know . . . he was . . .”

Charlie doesn’t need for him to continue to know exactly who he’s talking about, but she narrows her eyes and waits for him to finish his thought. “He was what?”

Oster flushes. “You know . . . one of _them_ . . .”

“One of who?” she asks again, her voice a little harder this time.

“A _Wutaian_ ,” he spits out.

“Is that a problem?” 

Clearing his throat, Oster looks away from her, eyes darting left to right. “No, ma’am,” he answers after a moment. “Not at all.”

Charlie leaves him with a lingering, burning look. There’s a scowl on Rufus’s face, as well, and Oster scurries away quickly enough, leaving them alone again as Palmer hobbles up to them on his injured foot, flanking the two guards that have escorted them here. 

“Did you know that Tseng came here?” she hisses at Rufus. “Oster said Tseng came here and gave Cid a beating.”

“Did he?”

“You didn’t know?”

Rufus shrugs. “No, I didn’t. But now isn’t the time to dwell on it. We need to get the _Tiny Bronco_.”

“We could have been here three hours ago if you hadn’t taken your sweet time back at the village.”

“Don’t be a brat, Char. Let’s just go to the pilot’s house, all right? I’ve sent Palmer ahead since you decided to waste time talking to the townspeople.”

Charlie leads them all towards Cid’s home, her heart still fluttering and her stomach churning violently, but she doesn’t even make it to the door. When they come in view of the home, Cid charges out the front door, looking far worse than Charlie could have imagined. 

The left side of his face is covered in dark bruises. His eye is swollen and horribly bloodshot, his nose looks a little more crooked than she recalls it being, and his bottom lip is still a little puffy. 

She stills at the very sight of him, horrified, curious as to what Tseng might have thought warranted a beating like _that_. 

But her heart still skips a beat. There’s a slight beard growing in on his chin, golden like his hair, and she wants to fling her arms around his neck and let him hold her for a few minutes. Just for a few seconds and she would be happy.

“You’re late!” Cid shouts at them both, strutting right up to them like he owns the place. It makes Charlie want to smile, remembering the arrogant way about him from all those years ago, walking around base camp. “You’re three hours late!”

“We had a sleepy start,” Rufus mutters, casting a sideways glance at his sister. “Ask Charlotte about it.”

Cid hardly even looks at her. “Well? When’re we gonna restart the space program? I’m ready to start today, if you’ll—”

Rufus laughs, cutting him off with a raised hand. “No, no, Cid,” he says, sighing very loudly. “We’re not restarting the space program. I’ve changed my mind. We’re here for your _Tiny Bronco_. You see, my lovely sister and I are going to find Sephiroth, and we’ve currently found ourselves temporarily without transportation, and with no time to spare. We need your plane to travel across the ocean.”

Cid scoffs, and Charlie feels so sorry for him that she could cry. If he would only _look_ at her, he might be able to see that she’s sorry. Thankfully, he _does_ look at her, but it’s with a burning anger.

“So first it’s the airship, huh?” he snaps. “And then my goddamn rocket? And now you want my _Tiny Bronco_? You took away my _dream_ , and now you’re gonna take the last thing I got?”

“There’s no need to act like a common thug,” Rufus says suddenly, only making Cid angrier, but it quiets him. “You seem to forget, _Captain_ , that it was because of my beautiful sister and Shinra Inc. that you were ever able to fly in the first place.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cid growls, his unbruised cheek turning red.

Charlie clears her throat, but neither Rufus nor Cid look away from each other. “Rufus, I’m going to go look at the rocket before we leave.”

“Fine.”

Cid finally looks at her again at the mention of the rocket. She holds his gaze for as long as she can, trying to look apologetic, trying to look desperate. She needs help, she’s trying to say, but she isn’t certain that Cid is able to understand that.

She walks away, looking once more over her shoulder. The moment she is out of sight, heading towards the pathway that will lead her to the base of her rocket, Charlie is able to look through the fence into Cid’s backyard, where the _Tiny Bronco_ is still parked. 

“Hey!” she hisses, pulling herself up, her head springing up from above the fence. Palmer is looking at the plane curiously, talking to himself. “Palmer! Stop it!”

Palmer looks up and blanches, jumping nearly three feet off the ground at the sight of her. “I’m—I’m only doing what the president told me to do!”

“Leave that plane alone, or I’ll—”

“Charlie!”

The back door of Cid’s house opens with a _crash!_ Charlie can’t recall the last time she was so relieved to see someone, especially a group of people she was indifferent towards only a few weeks ago (she can’t help but note that they’ve added another stranger to their merry little band, as well).

Aerith and Tifa run up to the fence, and Charlie drops down to her feet again, speaking through the gaps between the wood. “Did Cait Sith give you my message?” she asks quickly.

“Yes,” Tifa replies. “We can’t let Shinra get the _Tiny Bronco_. But how are we supposed to do that? The Captain won’t let us have it.”

“Tifa,” Charlie begins, inhaling deeply, completely as a loss for a plan, “I think this is one of those situations where you’re going to have to ask forgiveness rather than permission.”

“What about you?” Aerith asks, flinching as the sound of a gunshot splits the air. 

Charlie hesitates. She can’t see what’s going on behind Aerith and Tifa, but she can hear Palmer screaming in surprise. “I’ll be okay. If we’re both hunting Sephiroth, then I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Come with us,” Tifa insists, a small sliver of her face visible, showing off one dark-colored eye. The sound of a propeller fills the air, buzzing buzzing buzzing. 

“Tifa! Aerith! We gotta go!” comes Cloud’s voice from near the airplane.

Gods, she wants to go. She wants to be with people who will protect her. She wants to be with people who didn’t have anything to do with the killing of someone she cared about. But it’s too late—the plane is lifting slowly off the ground, wobbling from left to right as Cloud and his friends all jump onto the wings and tail.

“Go,” Charlie tells them, taking a few steps back from the fence. “I’ll be okay.” And then, she remembers something, stepping back up to the girls. “Sephiroth is headed towards a place called the Temple of the Ancients. It’s south of here. You have to cross the ocean.”

“We’ll see you there, right?” Aerith asks, placing her face to the gap in the fence. “At the Temple of the Ancients?”

“Let’s go!” Barret calls as the plane hovers awkwardly, lifting ever higher. 

Tifa and Aerith back away from the fence, joining their friends. Charlie envies them, wishing she could join them. Cid will hate her, of course, and will surely find some way to blame her for Avalanche stealing his plane. And Rufus will be angry about losing his transportation.

Will Rufus blame her for this, as well? Will he bring her back to Midgar and stick her in a cell again to make sure she isn’t able to communicate with anyone in the outside world? Will he hit her out of frustration? Beat her until she’s in the same state as Cid?

_What happens if I leave? I have nothing to hold me back now._

Charlie sprints to the other side of the house, where Rufus and Cid are still arguing back and forth. Cloud slips into the front seat of the plane, struggling with the controls, not quite as practiced a pilot as Cid is. He’s lucky he doesn’t shake off any of his friends. 

“Hey!” Cid screams, watching his plane straighten out, dipping down towards the ground, in danger of hitting the fountain. “Hey! Get back here!”

“Charlie!” Rufus calls out. “Don’t you dare!”

“C’mon, Shinra!” Barret looks over his shoulder at Charlie, who’s running as fast as she can. “Keep up!”

She isn’t going to make it. The plane is going too fast, and her legs are already beginning to hurt. She isn’t going to make it, and she’ll have to explain herself to Rufus, who will be furious with her decision to leave him at the first opportunity—

“Charlie, grab on!” Aerith leans forward, the arm of Cait Sith’s moogle wrapped tight around her, extending her metal staff for Charlie to take hold of. 

“ _Come back here!_ ”

Cid’s voice sounds like it’s right behind her. Charlie looks back to see him gaining on her, running as fast as he can, catching up to her with a few long strides. 

He looks right at her and sighs, still sprinting. “Shit! Hang on, Lottie!” he shouts, moving very quickly all at once. One of Cid’s arms wraps around her waist while his free hand darts out to take hold of the staff. 

Charlie holds onto the front of his jacket, burying her face into his chest as they’re being dragged along behind the plane. Her feet leave the ground and Cid shouts in her ear, startling her. She opens her eyes to find that Cid is about to lose his grip on the staff.

Aerith almost falls forward, tumbling right off the airplane, but Yuffie catches her and Tifa helps reel in Charlie and Cid. She continues to cling to him, only letting go when she’s able to grab onto everyone else, securing herself a place on the _Tiny Bronco_. It’s impossibly cramped, but the plane isn’t showing any signs of slowing.

And then she hears the gunshots, and she can hear Rufus screaming at the guards to stop shooting, but one of the bullets hits the tail and the plane begins to dive as they reach the forest that surrounds Rocket Town. Charlie holds on for dear life, suddenly on the verge of vomiting.

_Not again!_

“Everyone hold on!” Cloud orders them all, and everyone seems to brace for impact by huddling together with whoever is closest, lowering their heads. 

Charlie presses herself against the moogle’s body, feeling Red’s fur against her back and Aerith’s staff pressing against her side. The plane continues to coast for much longer than she expects, and it takes them clear out over the ocean, until Rocket Town is left behind and the land disappears into the horizon, leaving them surrounded by water on all sides. 

The plane crashes hard into the ocean, throwing everyone off the plane except for Cloud, who had been lucky enough to find himself in the pilot’s chair. Disoriented and dazed, Charlie struggles below the surface for a moment, the water stinging her eyes as she opens them and filling her mouth when she accidentally opens it. 

Strong arms loop underneath her own and bring her to the surface, where she looks around and finds Cid surfacing right in front of her, breathing heavily as he continues to tread water, releasing his grip on her. 

“You good?” he asks, ignoring the rest of the group, who are all clambering back onto the plane, soaking wet and looking around for their personal effects. 

“I think so,” she pants, coughing hoarsely and climbing up onto the left wing. 

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Cid asks again, scowling at her as he follows. “What the _hell_ is wrong with your brother?”

“I had nothing to do with that,” she answers defensively, panting on all fours as she tries to keep from falling off again, her arms and legs shaky. “I didn’t have anything to do with Tseng coming to Rocket Town, and I didn’t want to lie to you about the space program, but Rufus thought you wouldn’t be open to seeing us if you knew we only needed the _Tiny Bronco_ —”

“Damn right!”

“Look, you have no idea what I’ve been through these past twenty-four hours—”

“I can only imagine how difficult your life is—”

“My helicopter went down during a storm and I almost died,” she counters, talking right over Cid, who acts as if she isn’t talking. “And now, I just had to survive another plane crash literally not a day later—” 

“—know what it’s like to have that son of a bitch show up to fuck up my house and break my goddamn face—”

“—didn’t ask him to come here and beat you up—”

“—then maybe you shouldn’t have run away like he said you did—”

“—expect you to understand what I did and why I did it—”

“So . . . do you two know each other?” Barret asks suddenly, looking very uncomfortable as he watches them argue back and forth.

It seems _everyone_ is watching them argue back and forth, and both Charlie and Cid have the grace to blush. “We’ve worked together before,” she answers for the both of them, having a difficult time looking away from his damaged face. “On the airship, and on the Shinra. No 26.”

“She’s the one who gave the order to kill Shera,” Cid spits, looking pleased with this fact.

“I was only doing my job,” Charlie answers through gritted teeth. 

“Cid, can we still use this as a boat?” Cloud asks, seemingly the only one oblivious to the argument going on behind him.

“Do whatever you fuckin’ want!” Cid tells him bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest, dangling his legs over the wing. The back half of the plane is submerged, but it’s still floating. “Thing ain’t gonna fly anymore.”

“Is everyone okay?” Cait Sith asks. “We’re not missing anyone, are we?”

“Where are we?” Yuffie groans, running her hands through her wet hair. 

“What are you going to do now, Cid?” Cloud says again, climbing out of the pilot’s chair to regroup with everyone. 

“Hell if I know. There ain't nothin’ left in Rocket Town for me now.” He glares at Charlie. 

“Well, what about your wife?” Cloud asks. “What about Shera?”

“She ain’t my wife!” Cid retorts hotly, sparing a quick glance at Charlie and reddening. “Don’t make me laugh. I wouldn’t marry her if she was the last goddamn woman on the planet.” He looks right at Charlie this time, unabashed. “What are _you_ doin’ with these numbskulls?”

She looks around and blushes. She doesn’t really know herself. “I guess there’s nothing left for me in Midgar.”

“We’re going to be tracking a man called Sephiroth,” Cloud explains. “It’s possible we’ll run into Shinra again if you have grievances to air with them.”

“I got plenty of those, but Lottie will hear ‘em, won’t you?” 

“Who’s Lottie?” Yuffie looks around with her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Her,” Cid answers, gesturing with his chin at Charlie. “Fuck it. I’m comin’ with you. Someone’s gotta steer the damn plane, and I ain’t lettin’ it be one of you.”

“Well, Rufus said Sephiroth was heading for the Temple of the Ancients. It’s on a southern island. He mentioned we’d have to cross the ocean,” Charlie tells them, wringing out her hair. She’s freezing, and she doesn’t have any other clothes to wear. 

“First thing’s first, we need to find land,” Barret adds, looking around them. There’s nothing for miles—only water. “Find land, find a town, regroup, and find out about this temple.”

“All right, get out of the damn way.” Cid wedges himself in the pilot’s chair and sighs. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

* * *

Damn her. Damn her father, damn her brother, damn the Turk that fucked him up, damn her company, damn _Shinra._

He should have known better than to get his hopes up. He should have known that Rufus fucking Shinra wasn’t going to restart the space program. It’s just that Charlie had gotten his hopes up when she had mentioned it shortly after her father died. 

Part of him can’t believe she’s here. She’s _familiar_ with these people who are sworn enemies of Shinra. Though he wouldn’t go so far to call them friends. He can hear her deflecting all of their questions, questions that he would like answered, as well.

_What happened when they took you in Gongaga?_ Nothing. I’m fine. 

_Did they hurt you?_ No, I’m all right.

_You said your helicopter crashed?_ It did, but I’m still alive. 

She doesn’t give any fucking details, not that he knows what they’re talking about, and he’s too upset to ask follow-up questions. All she does is twist their questions around to wiggle out of answering them properly, making little jokes to distract them with soft and relieved laughter. 

She’s a fucking liar, and Cid knows it. 

She’s a fucking liar, and yet she’s crawling on her hands and knees closer to him, and when he glances over his shoulder to make sure that he’s not dreaming, Charlie’s path to him is interrupted by the girl named Aerith, who pulls her away to introduce her to someone. 

“This is Vincent,” he hears Aerith say. Cid focuses on the water, the plane propelling them forward. “He’s an ex-Turk, you know. Vincent, this is Charlotte Shinra, but we just call her ‘Charlie’.”

“A Shinra?”

“You were a Turk? When? For how long?”

Cid grits his teeth, listening to Charlie attack Vincent with question after question, but Vincent seems to be more like her than expected, refusing to answer many of her questions at all. Of course she’d be more interested in an ex-Turk, especially one that looks so fucking mysterious and begging to be cracked open for his secrets. 

She quiets after a moment, and he can hear her crawling towards him again as everyone breaks off into their own quiet conversations. 

“Hey,” she says, leaning forward and hanging half off the wing so she can look at the side of his face. 

Cid looks sideways at her, just barely. Her lips look a little blue. “Hey.”

“Look, I’m really sorry about today,” she tells him quietly, dipping her hand into the water and pulling it back right away. “And I’m really sorry about Tseng. I had no idea that he had even come here, and if I knew, I wouldn’t have allowed him to—”

“Just shut up, okay?” Cid snaps at her, turning to catch sight of her frown. He expected her to fight back, to snap at him in return, but she just looks absolutely defeated. He wonders if he’ll get answers out of her if they’re given some alone time. “I didn’t mean . . . just, don’t apologize to me, all right? Now get up off the wing like that. You’re makin’ me nervous as hell, kiddo.”

“Sorry.” She moves back a little bit, but doesn’t leave him. “And sorry about your plane. It’s my fault. I told Avalanche not to let Rufus have it. Sorry.”

“Who are you?” he teases roughly, not wanting to seem like all is forgiven, but not wanting her to shrink away from him. “The Charlotte Shinra I know doesn’t apologize for shit.”

“A lot has happened since you last saw me,” she reminds him.

“Yeah,” he says. The death of her father had torn her up, he knows. “How you feelin’, Lottie?”

She doesn’t answer for a long time, and when Cid turns his head to look at her expectantly, there’s a small, tired little smile on her face. “Better now,” she admits, shrugging her shoulders and returning to her friends.

* * *

“What is that supposed to be?”

Reeve hums, looking down at Marlene. He moves his chair aside so she can look closer at the screen of his laptop. “These are the plans for Sector Seven, once we start rebuilding,” he explains, pointing to the screen. “This used to be employee only housing, but we’re going to expand it and open it up to the general public. And here, we’re going to put a monument and a park . . . and here, see the streets? I’m hoping it will reduce traffic like this.”

“Did it always look like that before?” she asks curiously, her eyes following his finger as he points. 

“For the most part, yes,” he answers. It’s nice to have a distraction, seeing as all he’s been able to think about lately is how Cid Highwind had somehow managed to join their party of freedom fighters. “But I’ve changed a few things here and there.” Reeve steals another glance at Marlene. “Here, look at this.”

He pulls up another screen, showing her the finished plans of the original Sector Seven. These are slightly more detailed, and three-dimensional, as well. He hasn’t quite gotten that far with the new plans yet. 

“Here’s where the reactor is, and here’s the beginning of Sector Zero there . . .” He moves the computer closer, glad to see that Marlene is showing such interest. “See what I’ve done? We’ve cleared away this section to make the park, and these streets have been expanded to add another lane.”

“And you did all this?”

“I had a little help from my staff.” He notices the long face she’s wearing, and he doesn’t have to think hard to guess what she’s thinking about. “Do you like your tutor?”

“I guess so.”

“You only guess so?”

“I mean . . . she’s boring.”

Reeve can’t argue with that. He had met with the sixty-something year old woman a few days before hiring her to teach Marlene. Apparently, she tutors other children in the town, as well, but she’s a stern and severe little thing that reminds him of his own mother. 

“Maybe we can find another one, if you dislike her so much,” he suggests lightly. “You can help me with the interviewing process next time. Learning shouldn’t be boring.”

Marlene giggles. It’s the first time she’s laughed around him since he brought them here to Kalm. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you still getting married to Charlie?”

Reeve frowns, faltering. A flush creeps up his face and he tugs anxiously at the knot of his tie. “You sound familiar with her.”

“When I was staying at Aerith’s house, I played with the kids from the orphanage,” Marlene explains. “They said you and Charlie were going to get married soon.”

He sighs heavily, touching his left hand as if expecting to find a wedding band there. “Actually . . . no, we’re not getting married anymore. Would you like to know a secret, Marlene?”

Her eyebrows shoot up and she nods eagerly, leaning closer to him as he lowers his voice.

“Charlotte is with your father right now,” he whispers, unsure as to whether or not telling her that is a good idea. “She’s with Barret, Tifa, Cloud, Aerith, and all their friends.”

“Really? She’s with daddy?”

“Yes,” he answers, smiling. “So when they come back, we’ll all have to be here to meet them, all right?”

“Okay!”

There’s a knock on the doorframe, and he turns to find Elmyra standing in the doorway, looking nervously between Marlene and Reeve. “Dinner’s ready, Marlene. Come eat.”

“Coming,” she replies in a sing-song voice, running out of the room and ducking underneath Elmyra’s arm. 

“Come join us, Director. There’s plenty of food for the three of us.”

Reeve clears his throat, hesitating. “Er—perhaps another night. I really should be going. I didn’t realize how late it was getting.”

“We don’t mind, really. Marlene is over the moon about you, ever since your brought her Cat to play with.” Elmyra laughs quietly. “She’ll never give him back to you, I’m afraid.”

He smiles weakly, turning back towards his computer to hide it. He doesn’t mind, really. He hadn’t had the time to devote to Charlie’s cat, and when Marlene had expressed a passive desire about getting a pet, Reeve had brought Cat to Kalm the very next day, to people who _did_ have the time to commit to him. 

He decides, in the end, to stay for dinner, and Marlene talks throughout the entire meal. He can’t remember the last time someone had cooked a homemade meal for him (Charlie’s own cooking skills were not just subpar, but completely lacking at all), and Elmyra’s cooking is far better than he expected. 

It’s odd, Reeve thinks, sitting around a table with the mother of the last surviving Ancient and the daughter of Barret, the leader of Avalanche. 

These people should hate him for the sole reason of his affiliation with Shinra, with the vice president of Shinra, and yet they welcome him around their dinner table with open arms, never wary, never skeptical, asking him questions and teasing him until they’re able to coerce shy smiles and laughter from him.

It feels almost uncomfortable to intrude upon something so intimate between the two of them. He feels like he’s invading their space, their home, just by being here. Reeve feels he already has one foot out the door all throughout dinner, ready to leave at the slightest scowl or frown or show of fear. 

But if they fear him at all, the both of them hide it very well. Elmyra is very interested in hearing about the rebuilding of Sector Seven, and Marlene contributes her own ideas every step of the way, asking for him to include a space for Tifa’s new bar and a space beside it for her new home once her father returns. 

After these last few weeks, Reeve has almost forgotten what it feels like to sit in a room with people who enjoy his company, with people who _want_ him there. It’s refreshing and nerve-wracking and intimidating, but once Elmyra pours him a glass of wine, he loosens up a little and talks a little more and comes to appreciate their kindness just as much as they claim to appreciate his. 

After being forced back into the third bedroom that’s become his temporary office, Reeve sits down on the twin bed. The room was supposed to be Marlene’s, but one of the trees outside the windows has a habit of scratching at the glass window panes, and she had moved into the room Reeve intended on using after it frightened her, forcing him to pack everything right back up so he could re-move it all over again.

He isn’t certain if it’s the show of kindness both Elmyra and Marlene had made towards him tonight, or if it’s the idea of having to spy on Charlie and Cid and all of their new friends, or if it’s the idea of not marrying Charlie anymore, or if he’s just drunk, but he weeps that night, crying quietly into his hands. 

The thought of Charlie almost perishing in a helicopter accident had shaken him to his core, and even Marlene hadn’t been able to ignore the fact that something was wrong with him. 

He has to stop coming here, but there’s nowhere else for him to go. His apartment is too empty and lonely, and now he doesn’t even have Cat there for company. He has no remaining friends in the city, and his mother is busy caring for some boy she found after the destruction of Sector Seven. 

It’s inappropriate to be spending time with these people. It’s inappropriate to assume that Barret or Tifa or Aerith would ever be okay with him spending so much time with their family. Barret would tear his head off if he knew Reeve had been speaking to his daughter. 

When he leaves the bedroom to go for a walk, pulling on a jacket, Elmyra is just closing the door of Marlene’s room, tip-toeing away. “Are you leaving?” she asks, looking him up and down.

“Just a walk.” Reeve allows her to pass, following behind as she descends the stairs. “Elmyra, I . . .” He hesitates at the landing, but she stops halfway down and turns to face him. Running a hand down his face, Reeve clears his throat. “If you want to take Marlene back to Midgar, then I won’t stop you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re . . . my hostages.”

“Have we been your hostages this whole time?” she asks curiously.

It’s a fair question, but Reeve isn’t really certain that the truth is _no_. He’s bugged the entire house, has considered using them as leverage against Barret and Aerith should it come down to that, and is very involved in their personal affairs to make sure they’re not telling anyone anything they shouldn’t be. 

“Have I made you feel like that?” Reeve answers, hoping that the answer isn’t going to make him feel guilty. 

Elmyra takes a few moments to answer. “No, I don’t think so.” She pauses, squeezing the banister. 

Reeve runs a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t have come here. That’s what he tells himself every time. But here is safe. Here is welcoming. Here is a world away from Shinra, from Rufus, from Charlie. 

“If you’re unhappy here, then you can leave at any time, no questions asked.”

“It’s better for Marlene here than to have her live in the slums, don’t you think?”

He nods. “Yes. I do.”

“Then we’ll stay.”

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s getting choked up. People aren’t supposed to like him. People are supposed to shrink away from him, to see the amount of money he’s wearing and know that he’s one of them, an executive at _Shinra Inc._ People aren’t supposed to trust him or like him or invite them into their homes. 

“It’s cold out,” Elmyra notes, even though he’s sweating underneath his jacket. “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea instead?”

He doesn’t deserve this. He’s the last person that deserves this. Why is she being so kind to him? He works for the company that kidnapped her daughter. He works for the company that destroyed part of the city and killed all those people. 

“No, please, I don’t want to trouble you—”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she answers, looking much more at ease, her grip relaxing on the banister. “Really, I don’t mind.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I—”

“Come have a cup of tea, Director. It’s the least I can do for you.” 

There’s something firm about her tone. Reeve doesn’t think it’s wise to continue resisting. “All right. Sure.” He sheds his jacket and tosses it back into the bedroom, making for the kitchen when he’s interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Hello?”

“ _Is she alive?_ ”

Reeve holds a finger up to Elmyra and steps into the living room. “Yes, she’s alive,” he answers. “They’ve all survived.” He pauses. “Leave her alone, Tseng.”

“ _The president has ordered her capture, as well as the capture of those involved in her kidnapping,_ ” Tseng replies flatly, like he doesn’t even care, like he’s never cared about her. 

“She’s happy with them,” Reeve tells him, desperate. He doesn’t want to see Charlie in a cell again. She doesn’t belong there. She doesn’t deserve to be caged. “Let her go. Please. I’m begging you. You owe her that.”

“ _I have no intention of handing her over so easily to the president,_ ” Tseng confesses, sounding slightly wary about speaking so openly about his plans. “ _That’s why it’s imperative that I reach her first._ ”

Reeve looks around, making sure Elmyra isn’t listening. “They’re heading for the Temple of the Ancients, but they’re still trying to find land first. Look, I don’t think she’s very happy with you, anyway. She knows that you made a visit to Rocket Town.”

“ _Oh, that._ ” Tseng is quiet for a moment. Reeve feels a sudden surge of hope. Perhaps he does have a friend. Perhaps he does have an ally. “ _I don’t think she’s upset with me about that. She’s convinced that I killed Veld and Felicia._ ”

Reeve doesn’t quite know how to respond to such an outrageous statement. “But . . . they’re alive—”

“ _I know that. But Charlotte doesn’t._ ”

“Why would you tell her that, Tseng? You’ve probably broken her heart—”

“ _I didn’t call you for a lecture, Director. I called you for information regarding Charlotte._ ”

He exhales through his nose. “Fine. I’ll call you when we reach land.”

“ _Thank you. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about Veld._ ”

“Why? Charlie would be thrilled to hear he’s still alive.”

“ _It’s better this way,_ ” Tseng answers, hanging up without bothering to say good-bye.


	44. Chapter 44

There’s no escaping it that night, as the ten of them are all gathered around the fire in a land that Charlie is completely unfamiliar with (as well as everyone else). The land is mostly barren, but there are still a few trees and some dying foliage, and a brown mountain range surrounds them and keeps the wind from blowing out their fire. 

Thankfully, it’s not as cold as it was on the western continent, so far north, and the flames dry her clothes, though they still feel heavy. She’s hung her socks to dry, however, after washing them as best she can. Cid had warned her of the dangers of walking long distances in soaking wet socks, and it had disgusted her too much, but at least he got a laugh out of it. 

Everyone is needling her for a real explanation as to what happened when the Turks brought her back to Midgar, but she isn’t going to just tell them everything that happened. 

It’s none of their business, and they don’t need to know how Tseng had broken her. They don’t need to know that she and Rufus had held each other in their sleep, and had sought comfort through shared, open-mouthed kisses. They don’t need to know that she and Rufus had shared a bed only last night, and that she had let him touch her after she was too tired to keep up her protests. 

“ _You’re mine, Charlie. Mine. Doesn’t that feel good? I love you, don’t you know that? Don’t you love me? Tell me, Charlie, tell me that you love me._ ”

“ _I do. I do love you. I’ve always loved you._ ”

“ _No one’s going to keep us apart now. Never again. Do you like that? Tell me again. Tell me you love me, please._ ”

“ _I love you, I love you, I love you._ ”

Funny how something so simple can affect her brother so much. Three simple words that any lucky woman in the world would probably shower him with if given the chance. How could anyone not love him?

But part of her doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want any other woman to have her brother. He’s supposed to love _her._

A sudden pang of fear shoots through her. Fear and panic and jealousy and shame. It feels as if everyone knows what she’s thinking, like everyone knows what she’s done. She wants to curl up in a ball and _die._

“Rufus put me in a cell in the Shinra Building for a week or two, and then he let me go and tried to bring me to Nibelheim,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. It’s not good enough. “And then we ended up in Rocket Town for the plane once our helicopter went down.”

“That’s it?” Cloud asks, the Buster Sword stuck in the ground beside him. The flames dance against the metal. “They kept you prisoner for a few days and then just let you go?”

Charlie nods, offering him a small and false smile. “I’m the vice president. I suppose they thought there was nothing left to do with me.”

They could never understand how much pain was inflicted on her just by Tseng’s cold and casual confession. They could never understand how much more painful that was to her than any method of torture they could have thought up for her.

“I didn’t say anything,” she adds quickly, looking around the doubtful expressions on her friends’ faces, “I didn’t tell them anything about you.”

“So you’re here to stay, then?” Barret says, looking right at her over the fire. “You’re gonna join our hunt for Sephiroth? You’re gonna save the planet with us?” He scoffs and shakes his head, as if the situation is unbelievable. “You owe the planet a debt, Shinra. This would be a fine way to atone.”

Charlie blushes. Truthfully, she doesn’t really think she owes the planet anything—personally—nor does she have anything to atone for. She just wants to be good. She wants to be happy. She wants to find out who she is, who she can be, without the weight of high expectations crushing her spirit. 

Everyone seems to be waiting for her answer, and when she looks up again, it’s to find Cid looking right back at her. She’s so happy to see him again, to have him here with her, that she could cry. 

“If you’ll have me,” she says softly. 

“For a price,” Aerith teases, just as Cloud opens his mouth to speak. “Welcome aboard, Charlie.”

The breath escapes her without her permission, and suddenly she’s feeling choked up. This sense of acceptance, of welcome, it’s not what she’s used to. She’s a Shinra—she’s their sworn enemy, and here they are welcoming her with open arms, as their companion, as their _friend._

She needs to get away before she starts to cry in front of them. Charlie gets abruptly to her feet and clears her throat, brushing herself off. “I’m going to get some more wood for the fire,” she announces, meeting Cid’s eyes and trying in vain to hide a shy smile as she slips her boots on, slightly uncomfortable without socks.

“I’ll go with you—” Cait Sith begins, but Cid stands up quick, holding out a hand.

“Sit your ass down, cat. I’ll go with her.”

Charlie stifles her smile, biting down on her bottom lip. At least she hasn’t pushed him away completely. 

Cid clicks on a flashlight, and steps up to Charlie’s side. They wander into a small thicket of trees, where they’ll certainly find firewood, but Charlie doesn’t like not being able to see his face. 

They walk in silence for a while, very slowly, side by side. Charlie finds that she doesn’t know where to begin. She doesn’t know what to say to him, and she isn’t sure he’s forgiven her yet for everything that’s happened. She’s done him wrong and apologized, and isn’t it all she can do now to be good to him? To be kind? To prove that she isn’t like her brother, or like her father?

“You gonna tell me what the hell’s goin’ on now?” he finally asks, shining the light on some sticks that Charlie gathers. It’s only a few. She didn’t really come out to gather firewood to begin with. 

“Maybe,” she answers coyly, catching a sliver of his face when they move just right, the moon shining down through the canopy of leaves overhead. “Tell me what happened with Tseng.”

Cid groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “He came to see if you were hidin’ out at my house. Said you ran away,” he answers, sounding far less mad about it than Charlie thinks he should. 

“So he just beat you for no reason?”

“Well . . . it’s embarrassing, Lottie. Don’t make me say it.”

She stops, turning to face him and lifting an eyebrow. “Why would it be embarrassing? Just tell me.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Why? What do you think I’ll do?”

“Fine! Fine—he found a dirty magazine in my bedroom,” Cid begins awkwardly, groaning and tugging at his collar. He lowers the flashlight to the ground to hide his face. “It was one with you on the cover, where you’re sittin’ on that goddamn throne.”

Charlie swallows her laughter for his sake. “I don’t think that’s embarrassing,” she replies. “I think it’s flattering, and very sweet.”

“You’re makin’ it worse,” he growls. “And anyway, now you gotta tell me all your secrets. You owe me after the beatin’ I took for you.” Cid starts moving again, picking up a few sticks at his feet. “Actually, that makes three.”

“Three?” she asks, frowning.

“Yeah, the one that suit gave me on the ride back home from base camp, the one in the bar that you were there for, and then the second beatin’ from that damn suit again.”

Her heart flutters. “What do you mean? He’s hurt you before?”

Cid grumbles to himself. “Forget I said anythin’, okay?”

She wants to ask more questions, like why he had even been hit the first time, but she doesn’t want to push her luck, not after they’ve just been reunited. “It’s really good to see you again, Cid. I could really use a friend right now.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

He’s teasing her, and she knows it, but his words hit a little too close to home. It’s just enough to be the straw that breaks her back, and Charlie buries her face into her hands and starts to cry. 

“Whoa, whoa—I was just jokin’ with you. What’s wrong with you that you can’t take a joke anymore?” She hears the crunching of the ground beneath Cid’s boots, and his hand comes down on her back gently. “Lottie, what did they do to you?”

“Nothing,” she answers. “It’s nothing.”

“C’mon, don’t do that to me.” Cid sighs heavily, moving his hand to the nape of her neck and giving her a reassuring squeeze before pulling away from her. “You can lie to them out there. I don’t care ‘bout that. I don’t care ‘bout them. But don’t lie to me.”

Charlie lowers her hands from her face, able to see only half of Cid’s face with the way he’s holding the flashlight. It’s the good part of his face. It’s the handsome part, the healthy part, the unbeaten part. 

She considers it for a moment, considers telling him the truth, but she doesn’t quite think he would understand. But isn’t lying what got her into the position in the first place? If she had told Reeve the truth from the very beginning, about the reactors, he might never have left.

But if she had told the truth about Rufus, Reeve would have left long before she was able to. It was inevitable. It was always going to happen. Better to leave him before getting married to allow someone else to love him better than she ever could. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” she says quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

_Why are you being so nice to me? Why aren’t you mad at me? Why aren’t you tearing me a new one for lying to you about the space program?_ _How can you stand there and look at me like I’m worth something to you?_

Charlie looks away. There’s no way she’s going to ask something so stupid. He’ll only laugh in her face. “Never mind. Let’s just go back.”

“Well, hang on! You can’t just do that!” He drops the sticks in his left hand, grabbing her by the arm. “What’re you so afraid of? You think I’m gonna laugh at you or somethin’?”

“No, that’s not it,” she lies, squirming in his grip. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you wanna be friends, then you gotta give me _somethin’_ to work with.”

Charlie stops her fidgeting, holding the sticks against her chest. “I don’t want to go back,” she tells him seriously. “I don’t want the Turks to take me back.”

Cid squeezes her arm. “I ain’t gonna let that happen.”

“Okay.” She looks down at her feet. “We should go back before someone thinks we’ve run away together.”

He laughs to himself. “Yeah. We wouldn’t want anyone to think that, huh?”

* * *

They walk all morning, moving north up the land mass they’ve beached at, following the coast. Cid is wary about leaving the _Tiny Bronco_ behind, but no one is ready to sail around for hours again in the hopes they find a coastal town to restock at. With everyone against him, he’s left with no choice but to follow.

By mid-afternoon, Yuffie claims that she’s familiar with the area and promises to bring them to a nearby town. Cloud, Barret, Nanaki, and Tifa go with her to scout ahead, clearing the way for the rest of their friends to follow without worrying about monsters. 

Cid takes it as a slight, but he doesn’t yet have a weapon with him, having left Rocket Town in such a hurry, so guard duty is left primarily to Vincent and Aerith, though they encounter no trouble.

Cait Sith leads them onward, hopping along and setting a pace that agrees with everyone, though his priority seems to be Charlie and Aerith’s comfort more so than Cid or Vincent’s. He’s been unusually quiet today, but perhaps even toys have off days, Charlie supposes, and she isn’t going to complain. 

Cid and Vincent walk side by side a little ways behind Cait Sith. Vincent always seems to have his hand close to the gun on his hip, and she hasn’t been able to really get a good look at his face, hidden behind his hair and collar, but Charlie thinks he looks familiar. 

He listens silently to Cid ramble about nothing in particular, and sometimes glances over his shoulder as if to make sure they’re still being followed by their remaining companions. 

Charlie and Aerith bring up the rear, walking rather slowly, keeping a fair bit of distance from Vincent and Cid. Aerith talks for a little while about what they learned about the planet at Cosmo Canyon, and continues to talk about Nibelheim afterwards, and the strange circumstances in which they had found Vincent. 

Charlie wishes she had more information. She wishes that she could tell them why Nibelheim was the way it was, but she’s never heard of Shinra doing anything in the country village besides building a reactor. If only she had taken the time to speak to Rufus . . . he had information about Nibelheim that would have been useful . . .

But she can’t go back now. Whatever Rufus had to say about Nibelheim will likely never be said to her now.

Afterwards, Aerith expresses sincere condolences in regards to Charlie’s mother. 

For the first time, Charlie turns to look at her. Aerith’s eyes are wide and sad, and Charlie forces herself to smile. “It’s okay,” she says hoarsely. “I didn’t really know my mother anyway.”

Truthfully, too much has happened in the past few days for Charlie to focus on Aerith’s seemingly impossible story. It’s not like she knows anything about Nibelheim, and she doesn’t really understand what Sephiroth is up to or why Cloud and his friends are chasing after him. 

She can find that out later, when she’s able to sit Cloud down and really put him to the question. 

Rufus had wanted to find Sephiroth presumably for revenge, to capture the man who killed their father. But hadn’t Tseng mentioned they were on the verge of a discovery? Could it have been the location of the Temple of the Ancients? What’s there that Sephiroth could possibly want? Knowledge? Power? Materia? Weapons? 

It makes her head hurt, thinking about it all. 

Charlie finds herself watching Cid far more than she cares to admit. She’s always admired the way he struts around, power walking everywhere he goes, holding his chin up high in the air. He thinks he’s the most important person around for miles. Maybe he is. 

It makes her feel slightly guilty. She misses Reeve far more than she can say, and when she falls asleep at night, she always wonders if she’ll wake in her own bed, in Midgar, with Reeve’s chest tucked against her back, and none of this will have happened. She wants him to know that she’s thinking of him, that she wishes she could wake him with kisses again. 

“Keep up, ladies!” Cid calls over his shoulder to them once. “You’re fallin’ behind!”

“We’re just enjoying the view!” Aerith teases, completely unabashed despite her comment knocking the wind out of Charlie.

The heat rises to her cheeks when Cid looks back and smiles right at her. 

“You and Cid know each other pretty well, huh?” Aerith asks, looping her arm through Charlie’s.

She flinches, but doesn’t pull away completely. “Not really. We only worked together for a little bit.”

“Seems like you’re friends.”

“I don’t know if Cid would call us that.” She almost considers telling Aerith that Cid was her first real kiss, but she doesn’t know what possesses her to want to _gossip_ with this girl she hardly knows. “He’s all right. I hope you don’t take him too seriously sometimes. He’s a good man, underneath it all.”

“Why does he call you ‘Lottie’?” Aerith asks. It sounds odd to hear her nickname spoken so lightly, in a woman’s voice. 

Charlie chuckles. “I have no idea where it came from.”

“Hey! This ain’t the time for girl talk!” Cid calls to them again, and both Charlie and Aerith smile, putting their heads together and laughing softly. Charlie’s heart isn’t really in it, but it’s the best she’s felt in days, or possibly weeks. He points a teasing finger at her. “I know you’re talkin’ ‘bout me back there. Hope you’re not tellin’ her anythin’ embarrassing, Lottie.”

“That’s a bold assumption, Captain,” Charlie replies, and she watches as Cid’s smile widens, his eyebrows lifting to his hairline. “Believe it or not, there are more important things for us to discuss than _you_.”

“What’s more important than _me?_ ” Cid asks, stopping abruptly as the phone in his pocket begins to ring. Cloud had entrusted their second phone to Cid after he had thrown a fit about not being given a weapon. He holds it up and waits for everyone to gather around him, answering the call. “This is your captain speaking, Cid Highwind at your service.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, but it only makes Cid smile as Cloud’s voice sounds from the other end of the line.

“ _Bad news. Just ran into some Shinra troops_ —”

“What?” Charlie interrupts, looking around at her friends. Had Rufus sent them? How did they know that she was here? “What were they doing?”

“ _I don’t think they were looking for you. They didn’t expect to see us,_ ” Cloud answers, and Charlie exhales loudly, reaching for a gun that she doesn’t have anymore. “ _But don’t worry about that. We took care of the troops. We’ve got a bigger problem now._ ”

“Bigger than Shinra troops huntin’ us down?” Cid asks. 

“ _Yeah. Yuffie took our materia and ran off._ ”

The five of them are quiet for a moment, but Aerith is the one to break it. “We’re going after her, aren’t we?”

There’s another moment of silence, and Charlie can hear Cloud sighing very heavily. “ _She headed north. We’re going to go ahead. We’ll call when we find something._ ”

The moment Cid puts the phone away, Cait Sith holds his head in his little hands and groans. “She’s been after our materia the whole time!” he groans.

“Then let’s go after her,” Vincent suggests, putting a hand on his hip and looking very much like that’s the last thing he wants to do. “Cloud said she was going north. She must be headed towards Wutai Village.”

They must have been moving very slowly, because not two hours later, Cloud calls again to let them know they’ve found a settlement on the other side of the mountain range, a place called Wutai Village, as Vincent suspected. After that, they begin to pick up the pace, following the footprints in the earth left behind by their companions. 

Before they’re forced to pass a rickety wooden bridge that rocks back and forth between two mountains, Charlie hesitates. Vincent goes first without looking back, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. She envies his courage, but when she voices this to Cait Sith, he tells her that there’s hardly a difference between bravery and foolishness. 

“That almost sounds like something I would expect from a fortune teller,” she says, remembering the first fortune that Cait Sith had given her at the Gold Saucer. 

“I’ve got my good days and my bad days, love,” Cait replies, wiggling his pointed ears at her. “When we get a sec, ask me for a fortune again.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” she tells him. 

When Vincent makes it across, he calls for someone else to come. Aerith volunteers, moving much slower than Vincent had. 

Charlie’s panic is beginning to set in again. “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” she tells both Cid and Cait Sith, chewing on her lower lip. “I mean . . . Shinra troops, Wutai . . . I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Well, we ain’t just gonna leave you here to wait for us to get back,” Cid answers, scoffing as if the idea is ridiculous. 

“Don’t worry,” Cait Sith reassures her, waving back at Aerith as she makes it to the other side, raising a hand to encourage someone else to follow. “We’ll get to the village, put you somewhere safe and out of sight, and you can lay low while we find Yuffie. I’ll go across first.”

Charlie still hesitates, afraid to go across the bridge. She’s afraid that it will break (she’s had terrible luck lately) and she’ll fall to her death. She’s afraid that she’ll be shot and killed upon setting foot in Wutai Village. She’s afraid that Shinra troops will find her and bring her back to Midgar for the beating of her life and another round of imprisonment. 

“Lottie,” Cid says into her ear. “Your turn, honey. I’ll be right behind you.”

She shakes her head, stepping backwards. “No, I can’t. I’ll wait for you to come back—”

“We’re not gonna leave you behind,” Cid says again, putting a hand between her shoulder blades and guiding her towards the bridge. “No one’s gonna let anythin’ happen to you, okay? I told you last night, I ain’t gonna let anyone take you back to Midgar, got it?”

Charlie looks into his face, nodding slightly. “Okay,” she says, believing him. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“All right. Don’t look down. I’ll be right behind you.”

She almost reaches out to hold his hand, to give her strength, to give her courage. Curling her hands into fists at her sides, Charlie looks at Vincent, Cait Sith, and Aerith on the other side of the bridge. 

“Cid, I think I’m going to have a panic—”

His warm and rough hand wraps around her left one, slowly loosening her fist and holding tight. Charlie glances down at their hands and looks up again, blushing heatedly. 

“No, you’re not,” he tells her, as if his word is law. “We’re gonna go across this fuckin’ bridge and the two more I can see from here, and we’re gonna go to fuckin’ Wutai Village and get our fuckin’ materia back from that dumb kid, okay?”

She doesn’t even know what to say. He says it so firmly, so confidently, that it would be useless to argue with him. “Okay.”

“And when we get our materia back, we’re gonna go to this goddamn Temple of the Ancients, confront that son of a bitch Sephiroth, and then you and I are gonna fix up the _Tiny Bronco_ and I’m gonna take you for a real goddamn ride in it. Okay?”

Charlie smiles sheepishly, squeezing his hand. “Okay.”

“You ready to cross this goddamn bridge?”

“Yeah,” she answers breathlessly. “Okay, let’s go.”


	45. Chapter 45

Wutai Village, the largest settlement on the island, is a beautiful, colorful, and proud place.

What little she knows about Wutai is directly from Tseng, who has always painted a rather rose-tinted and nostalgic picture of the village for her, remembering days spent there before Shinra, before the Turks, before the war. When they were young, he had promised to take her one day after she expressed interest in seeing the massive carvings on the mountain faces and the several-story pagoda that houses Wutai’s strongest defenders.

He even spoke the native language once, but the last time he had tried, it had been broken and half-forgotten after so many years away from his homeland. That had made her sad, she remembers, even though she had been thrilled to hear things in a different language, despite not knowing at all what he had been saying to her.

The architecture is unlike anything she’s ever seen, so different from the steel beams and buildings and paved expressways in Midgar. The shops and homes and buildings here are all elegant and symmetrical, with carved and colorful and ornate columns outside. 

The village itself is built around (and some places are built _atop_ ) a dazzling blue and shallow river, the small land masses connected by small, decorative bridges that look like they certainly won’t collapse under her weight, and in the distance, she can see the pagoda that looms over the other buildings, and the statues carved into the rocky mountainside. 

Aerith immediately walks up to a small stand that sells fruit and other wares, bartering with a man who seems to only speak one language. 

“Okay,” Charlie says to her group as they enter the village proper, attracting quite a bit of staring. It’s clear that all of them are foreigners, and there’s no hiding that fact. “I think we definitely look suspicious.”

“Here, Charlie,” Aerith answers, walking back over to her with a floppy hat that will definitely make her look like a tourist. “Put this on and tuck your hair into it.”

Charlie puts the hat on her head, tucking her light blonde hair up into it and looking around for someone to give her confirmation that she doesn’t look like a moron. “Well?” she asks nervously. 

“I think it’s cute,” Aerith supplies. It makes Charlie’s cheeks turn pink. She looks to her right and smiles. “Right, Vincent?”

“Very,” he adds distractedly, looking around the village square.

“It’s no good,” Cait Sith frowns, standing on his moogle’s head to adjust her hat anxiously, pulling it down nearly to her eyes. “You still look like a Shinra to me.”

“Just keep your head down, kiddo, and you’ll be fine.” Cid clicks his tongue, flicking the brim of her wide hat. “Vince, why don’t you take her to the nearest inn and keep her company? Aerith, Cait, and I will help Cloud find Yuffie.”

“You don’t have a weapon, Cid,” Vincent retorts, sighing heavily. 

“I got my two bare hands, okay? Now take the little lady to the inn, would ya?”

“You don’t have to play the hero, y’know,” Cait Sith tells him, shaking his head. His crown slips slightly between his ears. “Let the adults with weapons handle it, Captain.”

“Who’re you talkin’ to, cat?” Cid snaps, cracking his knuckles. “Besides, Lottie likes heroes, don’t you?”

Charlie shrugs awkwardly. She appreciates being thought of, but she doesn’t want Cid to run headfirst into danger just to be called a hero. “Don’t be stupid,” she says to him.

“Whatever. You’ll see.” Cid turns back to Vincent. “You heard me—scram! We’ll catch up with y’all later!”

Charlie and Vincent glance at each other furtively, but neither one of them decide to argue any further. It’s useless, and will only incense Cid further. 

As it happens, the inn in Wutai is currently booked up, but judging by the lack of people inside, Charlie thinks it’s more likely that they just don’t want to sell a room to two very strange looking tourists. 

She can’t say she doesn’t understand—Vincent looks very much like a walking corpse prepared to kill at the drop of a hat, and Charlie’s pale skin, light hair, and blue eyes probably give her away very easily as an outsider, if not as a Shinra. The innkeep shoos them away with physical gestures, yelling something at them in their language, and they have no choice but to leave.

“I guess we should help look for Yuffie, huh?” she sighs as they enter the blinding sunshine. 

“I guess so.”

They don’t look very hard. 

Charlie wanders towards the pagoda in the distance, on the outskirts of town and surrounded by trees, and Vincent follows without complaint. People stare at them as they walk by, and she’s forced to pull her hat down low for fear that someone might recognize her. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he says suddenly, as Charlie is looking the pagoda up and down, trying to remember if it’s the same as Tseng described it all those years ago. She hums, hardly paying attention. “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I was curious as to your role within your father’s company.”

“You know, I think that’s the most you’ve spoken at all since I’ve met you,” she teases, despite having really only known him all of two days. “Well, first I was the Head of the Space Exploration Department, but then I was fired from that. And after that, I was the Director of Communications, but I was fired from that, too. And then I became the vice president, and . . . well, if my brother could fire me without causing a PR storm, I’m sure he would.”

“I see.”

“Not as exciting as a Turk,” she replies, smiling at him. “I know.”

Vincent is so serious, so sullen. He almost reminds her of Reeve, and the very thought of Reeve makes her heart ache painfully. “Did you know a man by the name of Professor Hojo?”

His question takes her aback. She stiffens at the thought of Hojo, remembering their last conversation. “Yes,” she breathes, amazed that they might share this connection. Aerith had mentioned he was an ex-Turk, but he’s certainly no Turk that’s ever cared for her. “He was the head of our science department.”

“‘Our’?” Vincent repeats, but his tone is not accusing, merely curious.

Charlie blushes, looking away from his gaunt face. “I only meant . . . _the_ _company’s_ science department, but he resigned after my father died.” Curiosity gets the better of her, and she turns to face him. “How do you know Hojo?”

A slight scoff escapes his lips, and he waits for a couple of pale-skinned tourists to take a few pictures of the pagoda before answering. “How old are you, Charlotte?”

She hesitates. “Twenty-seven.”

“Then you would be too young to remember.”

“To remember what?”

“A woman,” he answers softly, “named Lucrecia.” 

The name is unfamiliar to her, and she tells him so apologetically. It’s then that she’s able to get a good look at his face, as he pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and adjusts the collar around his throat. 

“Wait a moment,” she murmurs, taking a step backwards and looking at him very critically, tilting her head back and forth. “Push your hair out of your face.”

To her surprise, he obeys. It makes her smile, to see him comb his hair back with his fingers, tucking it behind his ears. A few loose strands come free, falling in front of his face, but she’s at least able to _see_ him now.

“Did you ever have . . . short hair?”

Vincent pauses, blinking at her and mussing up his hair again. “Yes.”

“Vincent Valentine,” she says, trying to picture him with healthy-looking skin and short hair, possibly clad in a dark suit as befits the Turks. 

“Yes?”

“I _know_ you,” she replies breathily, amazed. He looks so completely changed that it might be just her imagination. “I mean, I don’t _know_ you, but . . . I’ve seen you in a picture before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, Veld used to have all of these pictures in his office—”

Vincent’s face seems to grow paler, if possible. His eyes fix upon her own, and there’s something unsettling about his gaze. It makes her blush, shifting back and forth on her feet. “What did you just say?”

“Um,” she answers stupidly, “sorry, I didn’t mean to sound . . . it’s just that, I spent a lot of time in his office when I was younger and—”

“No, no,” he says, looking around and wrapping his metal hand around her upper arm, pulling her out of the open and off to the side, away from the people walking through the courtyard. “How do you know Veld?”

Charlie narrows her eyes. “I’m a Shinra. It’s only natural that I’m familiar with the Turks.” 

“So you were friendly with him, or merely acquainted?”

The idea that she and Veld were merely acquaintances forces a small smile onto her face. “Veld was like a father to me. He raised me since I was a child,” she explains, watching Vincent’s face soften slightly. “He was part of my life for as long as I can remember.”

Vincent doesn’t seem to know how to respond to this. “‘Was’? What happened to him?”

The smile is wiped clean from her face. “I . . .” She swallows hard, forcing the lump in her throat down. “He’s dead. I’m sorry.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I know that he disappeared a few years ago, so it’s very probable that he’s been dead for years.”

“That’s not possible,” Vincent says, so quickly and casually that it gives Charlie pause. 

“What do you mean?”

Vincent looks around again. She’s certain that he’s checking for eavesdroppers, but it makes her nervous to see _him_ looking so nervous. “It’s not possible that he died years ago, because I saw him myself, only a few months ago.”

Charlie blinks at him in surprise, her heart fluttering. “What—what do you mean? A few—a few months ago? But that—that’s impossible, he’s—Tseng told me that—”

“A few months ago, Veld found me in the basement of the Shinra Manor while searching for some rare materia,” Vincent explains, and Charlie feels dizzy, like she’s going to faint. “He was my partner all those years ago, before I was assigned to guard both Professor Hojo and Lucrecia.”

Can it be true? Is it possible? Had Tseng lied to her, or had he murdered Veld and his poor daughter after Vincent had seen him? “But I—” she begins, unsure of where she was going with that thought. “I have to—I—”

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know—” She can hardly believe it, that this man standing in front of her was Veld’s partner, and she can’t believe that he has this information, and she can feel her heart breaking all over again, confused and panicked. Her heart beats a violent tattoo against her chest, and she feels used and tricked. “I—I’m going to—I’m going to have a look around, and—”

“I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No. _No_ , no, please no—of course not, I—” Charlie inhales deeply. “I think I need to just be alone for a little bit.”

“Is that safe?”

“I don’t know,” she says again. 

What _does_ she know? She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t know anything about her father’s company, she doesn’t know anything about what Veld would have been doing in the basement of Shinra Manor looking for materia, she doesn’t know what Tseng would have had to gain from lying about the killings to her, and she doesn’t know if Veld is still alive or not.

Charlie pulls her hat down low over her head, and Vincent doesn’t stop her when she walks away wordlessly. 

She quickly gets lost in the maze of the village, crossing over bridges twice before realizing she’s already gone that way, and every building looks the same with foreign lettering outside of them that she can’t comprehend. 

A few Shinra soldiers comb the streets, but if they’re looking for Charlie’s new friends, they’re having terrible luck. Surely Cloud and his party must be scattered everywhere, and they all stick out like sore thumbs in the tourist town of Wutai village. 

She wonders briefly who they’re reporting to, but they seem to be wandering around at leisure, unprepared for a fight. Charlie has to hide once as they walk by a gift shop, talking aimlessly of the sights and sounds, clearly enjoying their trip to Wutai. 

And then, feeling as if she has nothing left to lose, Charlie decides to follow them. She needs to know why they’re here, who dispatched them across the planet, who they’re looking for, and how many of them there are. If she can get that information back to Cloud, it’s possible that everyone might be pleased with her efforts. 

She’s able to hide her face well by keeping her head down, and in clothes that are stained with sweat and mud and dirt and dust, it’s unlikely anyone is going to recognize her as the vice president. She looks the complete opposite, like some slum-dwelling gutter rat. 

The two troops she’s following are headed back to a pub, a place called Turtle’s Paradise. Flyers for the place had always been tacked up in the Shinra lounges or on the billboards by the train stations. She doesn’t go inside, but waits around the corner, expecting them to be out soon. 

It’s not three minutes later that they run back through the front door, grumbling to each other. Charlie pretends to read the flyer on the sign outside the pub, stooping slightly to hide her face. 

“. . . fucking Turks think they’re better than everyone else . . .” says one of the soldiers, and Charlie feels an icy hand grip her heart. 

“. . . whatever. HQ’s gonna hear about this . . . ‘vacation’ my ass . . .”

“. . . we’ll find him ourselves . . . don’t need any Turks to save our asses . . .”

“. . . if you say so . . .”

Charlie straightens as the soldiers continue walking out of earshot, heading back towards the pagoda. She doesn’t get a moment to think before the doors of the pub open again, and Charlie bends over the flyer as Elena comes strutting out into the sunshine, hip-checking Charlie on her way past.

“Watch it! I’m walking here!” Elena snaps at Charlie’s back, running after the soldiers. 

Charlie straightens once more, watching the back of Elena as she runs away, a real woman on a mission. She’s breathing heavily now, knowing that the Turks are in town. Is it possible the rest of them are inside the pub? Is it possible that Tseng is in there?

And who is it that the soldiers are after? Have they found Cloud? Or Barret? 

Wanting to put as much distance between herself and the other Turks as possible, Charlie walks off towards the pagoda again, creeping along behind Elena. She can’t believe the rush she’s getting just from following them, from _spying_. 

Or maybe the adrenaline is from Vincent’s confession about Veld. 

Elena slips off behind a building and out of sight. Charlie looks around. The streets are busy enough for her disappearance to go relatively unnoticed, and she doesn’t see any sign of her friends anywhere. She follows, darting between the shops and down an alleyway. 

“. . . you asshole! Wait until my boss hears about this! Let me go!”

Charlie’s heart rate picks up, and she hustles towards the end of the alley, peeking around the corner. 

A heavy, broad-shouldered man all in black has Elena pinned face down to the hard ground, tying her hands behind her back. There’s another man watching, one that’s repulsive to look upon, greasy and oily with a thick tuft of blond hair upon the top of his head. Draped around his shoulders is an expensive-looking and fur-trimmed coat the color of blood, and underneath it a white shirt that’s bursting at the buttons and seams, two sizes too small. 

Lying dead on the ground are the two soldiers that she had been following, having been shot in the back, their uniforms fraying at the bullet wounds. 

Charlie watches on, horrified. She should do something—she can’t just leave Elena here, but there’s nothing she can do. She doesn’t have a weapon, and she has no one around to protect her. Should she go get the other Turks in the pub? Would they even believe her?

_Gods, I’m useless._

“You should be honored,” the fat man sneers at her, waving a cigar around. The very sight of it makes her nauseous. “You might be the next Mrs. Corneo.”

_Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit_ —

She has to get out of here. Don Corneo isn’t someone she’s particularly keen on crossing. She’s heard the stories from Reno, heard about his many brides and their sudden disappearances just days later. She remembers Rufus being furious when Reno had brought her to Wall Market, remembers how Tseng had threatened to kill Reno if it happened again. 

_But what is he doing in Wutai?_

Charlie takes a step backwards, her heart failing when she feels her back press against something—no, some _one._ She gasps, turning to find herself face to face with another man in black, twice her size. The only part of him visible is his unremarkable face. 

“Hello there.” He grins, grabbing her arms with meaty hands, rough fingertips digging painfully into her skin through her sleeves. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Hey! Don!”

There’s a curious grunting sound from around the corner, and the man drags Charlie around it. She tries to dig her heels into the ground, but it’s pointless, and when she tries to scream as loud as she can, a hand is clapped over her mouth. When she tries to bite his hand through the fabric of his bodysuit, he hardly flinches. 

“What’s this?” Corneo asks, the sweet stench of his cigar filling her nostrils. Charlie almost vomits there and then, but is quickly distracted when she’s forced to her knees, her hands being held behind her back by the man who’s just finished binding Elena, wrists and ankles. “Don’t you know that it’s rude to eavesdrop, honey? Someone ought to teach you some manners.”

Charlie lifts her head, keeping her lips pursed and her face blank and she looks back at Corneo. “Touch me, and you will die,” she snaps at him. 

“Hoo boy! She’s feisty!” Corneo laughs, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. “What makes you so sure about that, lovely? Why don’t we take a good look at that pretty face, kitten. Let’s see what you’re hiding underneath that hat of yours.”

Corneo reaches down with his free hand, lifting her floppy hat off her head and tossing it to the side. Charlie’s hair tumbles down her shoulders and she gives it a shake, her knees screaming against the ground. 

“ _Charlie!_ ” Elena cries right away, and Corneo looks sideways at the Turk on the ground, his eyebrows knitting together, his smile faltering.

“Don’t you know who I am, Corneo?” Charlie asks stiffly, looking him in the eyes, her back straight, her chin in the air. 

Corneo looks at her for a moment, eyes roving over her face, his breath hot on her face and smelling of his cigar. For a moment, he looks hesitant, slightly disbelieving, and then he smiles again. “You’re the vice president,” he breathes, right on her mouth. “Oh, ho, ho . . . you’re coming with me, my sweet.”

“And you will die.”

“Oh no,” he replies quietly, “no, no, no. I won’t die. Not while I have you. You’re gonna be my bargaining chip, princess.”

Charlie opens her mouth to protest, but the black-clad man behind her reaches around to place a cloth over her face. 

It smells sickly sweet. 

* * *

“Miss Shinra.”

“Hm?”

“ _Charlie._ ”

She moans softly, her cheek pressing against something cool. Her eyes flutter open, only to find Elena’s face mere inches from her own, lying on a dark wooden floor. Both their wrists and ankles are still bound, and Charlie can’t find the upper body strength to sit up. 

“Elena!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m tied like an animal on the floor of an unknown building,” Charlie hisses, blushing. “This is humiliating.”

Elena sighs. “Tell me about it. I can’t believe this.” She sounds angry, but it’s directed more towards herself, her eyes closing as she relaxes. “Emma would never have done something so stupid. She would never have gotten caught by some petty criminal.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen, I knew your sister, and if it’s any consolation, she was a horrible bodyguard.”

Elena opens her eyes again to smile weakly at Charlie. 

The room they’re in is empty, but full of sparkling gold and ornate statues of foreign deities and past rulers, carved in traditional and decorative outfits. Several scrolls hang on the walls, all in a language she doesn’t understand. There’s a flight of stairs that leads to one door, and another door that’s on the furthest wall from her. 

“Don’t be afraid, all right?” Charlie tells her, trying to be brave. She will not let Don Corneo see her fear. “The Turks are here, aren’t they? They’ll come for us, and so will my friends.”

“For _you_ , maybe,” Elena murmurs, sighing again. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Corneo kneels down before Charlie as she opens her mouth to speak, grabbing hold of her chin with grubby fingers and forcing her head back. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, once my boys bring back the last girlie. A young and pretty thing, they said, but . . .” He looks delighted to see her, truly. “She’s not the vice president.”

“I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead,” Corneo says, laughing in her face. “I like screamers.”

“My friends will come for you. The Turks will come for you. Tseng will kill you. My brother, the _president_ , will kill you. There won’t be anything left of you by the time they’re finished.”

“Maybe they _will_ come, but they won’t kill me if they think I’m going to kill _you_ ,” he replies, releasing his grip on her and gesturing to one of his men. His free hand holds a gun instead of a cigar this time, waving it around carelessly. “A Turk, a princess, and the vice president. Not a bad haul, _Charlie_.”

“Ugh,” Charlie groans, turning her face away from him. “Wait—a princess?”

“ _Let me go, you creep!_ ”

“Yuffie!” Charlie struggles against the floor as the first floor door opens to reveal another man in black holding a bound and squirming Yuffie over his shoulder. “Let her go, Don! She’s just a kid!”

“That’s Godo Kisaragi’s daughter,” Corneo tells Charlie excitedly, pointing his gun at her, his finger hovering over the trigger. “A _princess._ Would make for a nice bride, don’t you think?”

“Oh, _Gods!_ ” Yuffie shrieks, gagging dramatically. “Kill me now!”

“Well,” Corneo scoffs, looking warily at Yuffie, “maybe just for a day.”

“Let her go!” Charlie protests, only able to see the back of her friend.

“Charlie? Is that you?” Yuffie asks quickly, putting a pause on her struggling and trying to look towards the sound of Charlie’s voice to no avail. “ _Great!_ I’m gonna die with some Shinra _freaks!_ ”

“Are you kidding me?” Charlie snaps, exhaling loudly and looking up at Corneo again. “Let them both go, Corneo! I’ll go, I’ll go with you, just let them go—”

“Miss Shinra! I can’t let you do that, ma’am! The others would have my head!”

“You are so _stupid_ , Charlie!”

“I don’t need this from you, Yuffie! I’m trying to save you!”

“I don’t need a _Shinra_ to save me, okay!”

“Do you want help or not?”

“Yes, but not from _you!_ ”

“Get the girls!” Corneo announces over the both of them, and Charlie grunts as someone lifts her from behind and with ease, picking her up with thick arms around her waist, turning her over and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She turns her face at the sour smell of the man’s uniform. “We’re getting outta here—”

He’s interrupted by the lower door opening again, and a voice that she’s very relieved to hear. “Hold it, Corneo!”

Charlie turns her head the other way, looking back towards Yuffie, who continues to struggle against her captor, and Cloud, one hand on the worn pommel of his sword. Corneo giggles delightfully, showing off his pistol.

“Ouch! Hey—don’t touch there!” Elena growls, and Charlie hears a thump and grunt like someone’s been elbowed, but she can’t see what’s happening. 

“Cloud, help!” she cries, as the man makes his way up the stairs after Elena’s captor. Charlie hates that she has to beg for help, but the idea of Don Corneo running away with her, Elena, and Yuffie absolutely terrifies her. 

“Your friends, Madam Vice President? What interesting company you keep!” Corneo chuckles, cocking his gun and turning to face Charlie, halfway up the steps. He smiles, looking over his shoulder at Cloud. “I wouldn’t come any closer, if I were you. Not if you value the vice president’s life, that is. But . . . I would understand if you don’t . . . her name isn’t held in the same regard it once was . . .”

“Thanks a lot, Charlie!” Yuffie groans again. “We’re all gonna die now ‘cause you’re a terrible vice president!”

“I am not!”

Cloud hesitates, never lowering his hand, but keeping a firm grip on the Buster Sword’s pommel. With a gun trained on Charlie, he’s left with no choice but to watch as Don Corneo and his goons escape with all three women. 

* * *

“Hey, uh, Vince? Where the hell is Charlie?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean _you don’t know?_ ”

“She wanted to be alone, so I let her.”

Cid scoffs, stammering and sputtering for a moment as he runs a hand through his hair. “You were supposed to bring her to the inn and keep her there!”

“We encountered resistance at the inn and couldn’t get a room.”

He sighs, putting his hands on his hips and looking Vincent up and down. He looks completely indifferent towards the situation, slightly aloof and very out of place among the villagers. 

“Okay, I’ll admit that it may have been a mistake to send _you_ to the inn with Charlie,” Cid concedes, holding his hands up in defeat. 

“Where are Aerith and Cait Sith?” Vincent asks, like he doesn’t even care about Charlie. 

Cid can’t help but to feel angry on her behalf. She’s risking everything to be here with them, fighting against Sephiroth (or whatever the hell she’s doing with Cloud and his friends), and all everyone seems to do around here is shit on her. Sure, he might shit on her last name sometimes, too, but he’ll be damned if he lets anyone _else_ do it. 

“They went off to go look in another part of town for Yuffie. Couldn’t be with ‘em anymore. All they wanted to do was ask questions ‘bout me and Charlie, like it’s any of their goddamn business.” Cid gestures towards the main part of town with a quick flick of his neck. “C’mon, Vincent. We gotta find Charlie—”

“No need, slick. We’ve already found Charlie, Elena, _and_ Yuffie.”

Cid hums, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face the man with the nasally voice that’s just spoken to him. He looks young, but that might just be the messy way he’s dressed, in a dark suit jacket and a white undershirt that are both unbuttoned to show off more than a healthy glimpse of his pale chest, and his bright red hair makes it even worse. 

_Gods, when the hell did I get so old?_

“Who the hell are you two supposed to be?” Cid asks, looking from the red-haired man to the tall bald one and back again. 

“Oh?” the skinny-looking thing asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Charlie’s never mentioned us, huh? Doesn’t that just break your heart, partner?” He elbows his partner, who grunts in reply.

“They’re Turks.” Cid turns again to find Cloud walking towards them, looking more pissed off than usual. “And Corneo’s got one of theirs, too.”

“Yep,” the redhead replies, popping his ‘p’. “He’s a slippery little thing, ain’t he?”

_Turks?_ Cid thinks, staring them down. _Oh, shit shit shit shit shit._ “We gotta go get the girls back, boss,” he says quickly, hoping that Cloud is just as willing to go after them. “Who took ‘em again?”

“It’s a long story,” Cloud answers. “But we have to get them quick, or else we might never see Yuffie or Charlie again.”

“You’re gonna go after Charlie? That’s cute,” the smaller Turk scoffs, nodding his head slightly. “How ‘bout you stick to _your_ girl, and Rude and I will stick to our two? She ain’t yours.”

“I don’t think so,” Cloud replies stiffly, stepping up closer to the Turk. He’s a few inches shorter, but with his spiky yellow hair, he appears taller. “Charlie’s coming with us. No Turk is going to take her back to Midgar unless she wants to go.”

“Guess we’ll see about that, huh? The president’s looking forward to having his sister back.” 

It’s then that Cid remembers the redheaded Turk, the same one who had accompanied Charlie to Rocket Town in response to Oster’s plea to keep the Shinra No. 26 standing. He’ll be damned if he recalls a name, however. 

“She ain’t goin’ anywhere with you,” Cid finally says, now that he’s not lost in thought. He can’t help but be a little afraid of what might happen to Charlie, especially in the hands of someone the Turks are after, as well. “She’s with us now, and she told me herself she doesn’t want any of you goddamn Turks to take her back.”

The little twig of a Turk laughs in his face. “Aren’t you the pilot?” he snickers, moving closer to get a better look at Cid’s face. “You’re the one the boss beat up, huh? Heard he shattered your jaw, but you’re not lookin’ too bad. Brave man, to go after Charlie despite gettin’ his face bashed in.”

“Fuck off,” Cid spits, and the left side of his face gives a painful throb.

“Lookin’ for another beating, jackass?”

“Bring it on—”

“Come on, Reno. We’re wasting time here,” Rude mutters, looking through his sunglasses at Cid. 

“Yeah, yeah, partner, I got it,” Reno answers, sighing and giving his head a shake. “Listen, we just wanna see the girls safe, okay? And I don’t really feel like doin’ any more fighting on my day off than I have to. So we won’t bother each other in the meantime, got it?”

Cloud gives Cid and Vincent a wary look. There’s no choice for him but to agree. Cid can only hope that Cloud intends to bring Charlie with them. “Fine. Which way did Corneo go?”

It turns out, Corneo is a theatrical and rather gaudy man. Cid can’t think of any other reason that he’d drag three women up the side of a carved mountain face with paths that zigzag around the statues—behind their heads and under their arms, looping around their waists and crossing the massive and stony palms of their hands. 

The mountain is full of tunnels and half-collapsed passageways and some passageways that are burning constantly, and it takes some time to reach the place where they find the slimeball that Cloud calls Don Corneo, a yellow-haired, half-bald, fat fuck that’s standing with an arm wrapped around Charlie’s neck and a pistol aimed at her head. 

“Stay back!” Corneo shouts, sweating profusely in the sunlight. He has the distinct look of a man who knows there’s no escape. “Or I’ll shoot her!”

To his left, on a carved face, Cid catches sight of Yuffie and the blonde Turk girl bound to its eyes, arms extended on either side of them. Cid can’t help but think it’s pretty fucking convenient that the Turks haven’t yet found them. 

_Useless pieces of shit,_ he thinks bitterly about the Turks, meeting Charlie’s eyes as she’s dragged further and further towards the edge the closer Cloud gets to him.

“Hang on, honey, we’re comin’!” Cid shouts to Charlie. She only nods slightly, jerked around by Corneo. 

“Cloud!” Yuffie calls, wriggling nimbly against the rock face. “Cloud, get me _down_ from here!”

“Me too!” the Turk adds hastily. 

Corneo takes a small step backwards as Cid follows Cloud and Vincent along the statue’s thick arm, careful to walk right in the middle so he doesn’t fall off before he’s able to rescue Lottie. _Wouldn’t that be the stupidest fucking thing she’s ever seen in the world._

“Let them go, Corneo, or it’ll mean trouble for you,” Cloud begins again, pulling the massive fucking sword off his back just as Vincent draws his gun, keeping it pointed away from both Corneo and Charlie. “You’re outnumbered. Just give us the girls.”

Cid doesn’t really know what he’s going to do if it comes down to a fight. He supposes he _could_ just use his fists. He wouldn’t mind beating that bold fucker into a pulp, just for holding a gun to Charlie’s head. 

But _fuck_ if she’s not one of the bravest women he’s ever met.

Her face shows absolutely _no_ fear. He’s suddenly reminded that she’s the vice president of Shinra Inc., and it shows in her expression. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth a straight line, standing tall with as much dignity as she can muster while one arm is wrapped around her neck. 

Any sane man would cower at the sight of that cold expression, but Cid knows better, and so does everyone else around them.

“Away or she dies!” Corneo spits, looking flushed as he takes another step backwards, finding himself out of room. “I’m serious!”

Charlie falters for the first time, catching sight of how close they are to tumbling down the side of the mountain. The barrel of the gun presses to the side of her head, metal against flesh.

“And so will they.” Corneo puts the gun in his left hand, fishing around in his pocket with his free arm to pull out a small remote. He pushes the only button available, and both girls hanging on the statue face are turned abruptly upside down, screaming for help. “Last chance! Leave now, or I’ll drop them and shoot the vice president!”

“I can’t believe this!” Yuffie cries.

“Don’t worry,” Corneo continues, smiling. “I’ll take good care of her. Who else could make such a perfect Mrs. Corneo?”

_Say something, you stupid piece of shit, don’t just stand there, go get her, go save her, do something for once in your sorry ass life_ —

“Don’t you touch her!” Cid yells, the very idea making his blood boil.

“All right, Corneo. Enough dicking around. Let the girls go.”

Cid turns, cursing himself silently. Of course the Turks would come to save the day, to save the girl, to bathe in the glory of it, all while he had just stood there looking dumb, not even carrying a weapon. 

Reno walks forward, equal parts reckless and arrogant, getting closer to Corneo and Charlie than Cloud had dared. Corneo looks over his shoulder, putting the gun back to Charlie’s head and tightening his grip around her neck, her cheeks turning pink.

“The Turks!” Corneo squeals, his gun hand shaking. “Stay back!”

“You shouldn’t have leaked that information to Avalanche, Don. You knew this would happen the minute you spilled,” Reno replies, looking completely unaffected by the scene before him. “And now us Turks are gonna take care of you, personally. We’ll show you what happens to assholes who kidnap our vice president.”

“I told you they would come for me,” Charlie says through gritted teeth, looking pleased with herself despite the situation.

“Shut up!” the fat man hisses, tightening his grip around her neck so her cheeks turn red. 

“Let her go,” Reno orders him again, his expression hard and cool. “Or I’m gonna beat the shit outta you.”

“Not if you want your vice president to live!” Corneo retorts, sounding very much as if he’s got the upper hand. To Cid, it sure looks like he does. “If you want to do this the hard way, I’ll take them _all_ with me!”

Cid shouts as he watches Corneo’s finger move to the trigger of the gun, and he leaps forward as if hoping to get there before the bullet travels the short distance from the barrel into her brain, but before he’s able to shoot, several things happen very quickly. 

There’s a loud _thwip!_ and Corneo cries out in pain, dropping the pistol and releasing his hold on Charlie, who falls to her hands and knees, her face contorting as she inhales deep. She moves quickly, picking up the gun and kicking Corneo in the chest as he lunges for her. Corneo falls backwards with the force of it, slipping on the edge of the statue’s hand that cradles them and falling, only to catch himself at the last minute, fingers scrabbling against the stone.

“Good timing, Rude,” Reno says, looking back towards Yuffie and Elena. The bald Turk is standing in the shadows of the face the girls are tied to, holding a smoking gun in his hand. “But you almost killed Charlie.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Rude replies, making his way towards Corneo. “I’m a good shot.”

“Good thing. Step back, Charlie,” Reno instructs her, and Charlie does as she’s told, but instead of moving towards her new friends, she allows herself to be swept up in Rude’s arms as Reno kneels in front of Corneo, breathing heavily as she nuzzles against the Turk’s chest, trembling. 

Cid can’t help but feel a flaming rage burn within him at the sight, but is distracted by the sight of Reno pulling Corneo back up from the edge. “What are you doin’?” Cid shouts, meaning to approach, but Vincent takes hold of his arm to hold him back. “Let him fall to his death! The slimy fuck deserves it!”

“We got orders to bring him in alive,” Reno retorts, looking over his shoulder at Cid like the idea is the stupidest fucking thing he’s ever heard. 

With Rude and Vincent still aiming their guns at Corneo, the pathetic man lies sweating on the ground, stuttering and begging for his life. Reno puts his foot on Corneo’s chest. 

“You’ve got some nerve showin’ your face here,” Reno spits. “You know what the punishment is for kidnapping the vice president?”

“I don’t—I don’t—”

“The _official_ punishment would be death,” the Turk elaborates. 

Cid finds he can’t look away, almost eager to see what’s going to happen. Even Yuffie and Elena are quiet, still turned upside down, their faces slightly colored from the blood rushing to their heads. 

“But see . . . I don’t think that’s enough, especially for a little rat like you, Corneo. See that pretty little lady right there?” He throws a thumb over his shoulder at Charlie, who continues to cling to Rude. “Not only is she the vice president, but she’s the sister of the current president and the daughter of the former president. And my boss . . . well, I don’t think he’d be content dropping you from the side of this mountain, either.”

Cid can’t argue with that. Any man who comes to Rocket Town with the sole purpose of beating him black and blue for merely contacting Charlie over the phone would probably do much worse to a man that kidnapped her. It’s almost a shame he isn’t here. 

“See, Corneo, my boss . . . the vice president’s kinda his personal responsibility, not to mention he’s responsible for the well-being of his other Turks.” Cid can only see the back of Reno, and doesn’t know the Turk very well at all, but he can tell that Reno is sneering. “And I don’t think he’d be too happy with me if I didn’t, y’know, _rough_ ya up a bit.”

“Wait—wait—I can explain—I have information I can—please—”

Reno doesn’t give Corneo a chance to explain. Within seconds, the Turk drops to his knees, straddling Corneo’s legs and pulling a metal baton out from the back of his uniform, slamming the butt end of it into Corneo’s face while he screams in pain like a dying animal.

It’s brutal to watch, even for him. Reno continues to hit him until Corneo’s face is nearly unrecognizable, awash in bright red blood, and the screams subside the longer the Turk beats him. It’s far more brutal than the beating Cid had received, and he can’t help but feel _lucky_ that Reno hadn’t been the one to visit him. 

Cid isn’t certain how long it’s going to go on for. His eyes are drawn to it, unable to look away despite how much he wants to, and then—

“Reno, stop! _Stop it!_ ”

Charlie pushes her gun against Rude’s chest and breaks free from him, running up to Reno’s back and throwing herself at him. She wraps her arms around his neck, her chest fitted against the curve of his stupid fucking spine, burying her face in the nape of his neck and whispering something he can’t hear. 

Cid has to look away. Cloud seems uncomfortable, as well, and suggests that the three of them get Yuffie and Elena down from the statue’s face. Vincent follows without question, but Cid hesitates, watching as Reno stops his brutality the moment Charlie touches him, holding him against her. 

The sight is enough to remind him again of who Lottie really is.

Reno’s baton has dropped to his side, and he’s turned against Charlie completely, speaking quietly to her as he cradles her head against his chest, urging her not to look at Corneo, who seems very dead, until Cid sees his fingers twitching and his eyes opening and closing very slowly. 

“C’mon, Cid,” Cloud tells him again, pointing up towards Yuffie and Elena. Even Rude has joined them, helping to rescue his fellow Turk. “Charlie’s okay for now.”

“Oh, thank you!” Elena says hoarsely, sighing to herself.

She doesn’t look okay, and Cid doesn’t trust the dumbass Turk with her at all, but Charlie doesn’t seem afraid of him in the slightest. 

_Fucking useless,_ he mentally scolds himself. _You’re fucking useless, you stupid piece of shit._

* * *

She can’t look at Corneo’s face. It’s nauseating, and part of her can’t believe that Reno has done such damage to his fat face, while the other part of her has no trouble believing it at all. His blood has splattered all over Reno’s face and chest and white shirt, pooling on the ground. 

With Reno’s hand holding the back of her head, Charlie cries into his chest, her heart still racing from the thought of falling to her death while being held by Don Corneo. That would have been the best outcome, she thinks. She would have _died_ before allowing herself to become the next Mrs. Corneo.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Reno murmurs against her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You were real brave, kiddo. Just like a vice president should be. You okay? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay,” she says, trying to control her breathing. It comes in short and deep gasps, her temple still burning from where she had felt the barrel of the gun against her skin. 

Is that how Reeve had felt? Had he been terrified the entire time, forced to conceal it to maintain his dignity?

As Cloud and the others help untie Yuffie and Elena, Reno’s phone goes off. With one arm still around Charlie, he digs around in his back pocket to pull it out, holding it up to his ear. 

“This is Reno.” There’s a long pause. “Yep. Yeah. Sure. We’ll get on it right away, boss.”

Charlie’s heart flutters and she pulls her head back to look into Reno’s face. He’s already looking right back at her, and she can hear Tseng’s muffled voice coming through the phone. When Reno hangs up, he still never looks away from her face.

“The company wants us to capture Cloud and the others . . . along with _you_ , Miss Vice President.”

He speaks lowly enough that no one else will hear. Charlie looks into his face with pleading and wide eyes. “Please don’t bring me back,” she whispers, putting her hands on either side of his face to impress her point. “I can’t go back there, Reno. I know what happened to Veld. Tseng told me. I can’t go back there. I’d rather die.”

Reno takes hold of her hands, lowering them from his face, but squeezing gently. “We’re off duty today. First vacation I got in a long time, and I ain’t gonna spoil it by forcing myself to listen to you yammering on the whole way back to Midgar,” he answers, helping Charlie to her feet before letting go of her hands. “You have one hour, got it?”

Charlie smiles, her eyes stinging painfully with tears. “Thank you, Reno.” She kisses his cheek, and runs back to her friends. 


	46. Chapter 46

“One for Tifa . . . Cid, there’s yours . . . Yuffie, you’re only gettin’ one tonight . . . and one for our resident merc . . .”

“I’m good.”

“Don’t be a downer. We’re celebratin’ tonight, and tomorrow . . . the Temple of the Ancients, to kick Sephiroth’s ass once and for all!”

Charlie listens to her companions cheer over her shoulder, the nine of them all seated around the fire. She doesn’t join them that night, sitting on the wing of the _Tiny Bronco_ and looking out to sea, turning the handgun over in her hands, the one she had taken from Don Corneo, brushing the pad of her thumb over the elaborate engravings, trying to get a feel for it.

She hears soft footsteps upon the metal of the plane, and Charlie glances sideways at Cait Sith as he sits down beside her, leaning back on his hands. He almost blends in with the darkness, but his crown, cape, gloves, and chest give him away. 

“Not in a celebrating mood tonight?” he asks her lightly, and Charlie offers him a small little smile as she sets her new gun down. 

“No, not tonight.”

Besides the sound of their party at the fire, Charlie listens to the lapping of the waves on the beach and against the plane, the clicking and singing of insects. They’re sounds that you don’t ever hear in the city, with all of the humming from the reactors and the buzz of constant conversation and the loud sputtering of car engines. 

“Hey, you okay?” Cait Sith asks again, lifting her arm to allow him to curl up at her side, her fingers brushing against his chest. She scratches at him, his fur soft, but his body harder than a normal cat’s. “S’been a long day, and you’ve been through a lot.”

“It’s over now,” she says. “I’m okay.”

Cait Sith looks up at her, and she finds that looking down into his cute little face is almost enough to make her cry. “Charlie,” he says softly, slipping his hand into her own, so casual and comfortable and natural. The gesture reminds her so much of Reeve that she could _really_ cry now. “It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to talk about it.”

She swallows hard, surprised to find herself clinging so tightly to the cat’s hand. “I just have a lot on my mind. I’ll be fine.” Charlie casts around for something to tell him, just to keep him from asking more questions. “I’m homesick, I guess.”

“Homesick? For Midgar?”

“No,” she adds quickly, “not homesick. I just . . . miss the things I left behind in Midgar.” Charlie releases Cait Sith’s hand. She misses Reeve. She misses Rufus. She misses Tseng. She misses Cat and Veld and Angeal. “I wish I could at least go back and explain myself.”

Cait Sith is suspiciously quiet. She’s used to him trying to lighten the mood and break the tension, trying to make everyone smile and laugh. Lately, however, he’s seemed a little out of sorts, ever since Charlie met back up with them again. 

“I was engaged. Did you know that?”

When he speaks again, it’s not his usual playful voice. “I did.”

She wants to say more, to tell Cait Sith about Reeve and how horribly she had wronged him, and how much it had hurt to come home and find all of his things gone and cleaned out of her apartment. But the idea of rambling about a man who may not even love her anymore makes her sad. 

“When you went to Cosmo Canyon, did anyone say anything else about my mother?”

“Oh, aye. Bugenhagen said all kinds of things. He knew your mother well, it seemed,” Cait Sith answers, tilting his head back to look at the stars through his hardly-opened eyes. “Can you give me a minute, Charlotte? I’d like to show you something.”

Charlie blinks down at him, frowning, her eyebrows knitting together. It’s odd to hear him address her by her full name. “Okay.”

Cait Sith suddenly slumps over, dead weight against her, seemingly unresponsive. She waits quietly for a few minutes, wondering if his battery has died, or whatever magic that keeps him alive has gone. But then, he leaps back to his feet so quickly that she jumps, and he opens his mouth.

The voice that comes out of him is not his own, nor is it any voice that she’s ever heard before. It sounds like it comes from an old man, echoing slightly from deep within Cait Sith.

“ _. . . when one returns to the planet, they aren’t truly gone . . . when you find Miss Charlotte Shinra, perhaps you could tell her that her mother is still here, watching over her . . ._ ”

Her breath hitches. 

“. . . _Eleanor is the wind that rustles the leaves, the water that feeds the roots of saplings and the flowers that bloom . . . she is the heat of the flames of a fire that warms us on a cold night . . . she is the grass underfoot that tickles our feet . . . the trees that bless us with shade we may rest under . . . the very energy that flows under the earth of our planet . . . she will never truly be gone so long as the planet continues to live . . ._ ”

Cait Sith’s mouth clamps shut again, and he seems back to his normal self. The sentiment is touching, but she doesn’t know that she believes it. It all sounds like the sort of thing that might have come from one of the fairytale books Veld used to read her. 

“What _are_ you?” she asks quietly, looking the cat over twice more. 

“Charlotte,” he begins, wringing his hands together, “I—”

“Hey! Shinra! Come have a drink!”

Charlie looks over her shoulder to see Barret waving her down, one thick arm up in the air, moving back and forth with speed she wouldn’t expect from someone so big. 

“No, thank you,” she calls back, “just drink an extra one for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barret replies eagerly, pouring the last of the bottle into his wooden cup. 

It had been Reno who gave Charlie a hefty bag of gil before she was due to leave Wutai, and she had split it evenly between them all the moment she joined her friends again. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” Reno had said to her, pushing the money into her hands as well as Corneo’s gun. “You know how to use this thing?”

“Point and shoot,” she had answered. 

That had earned her a wary and skeptical smile from Reno, and he had ruffled her hair like a brother might before sending her on her way. She hadn’t even cared that her hair was messy. She just liked the affectionate way his fingers combed through her hair, the small smile tugging at his lips.

Barret had decided to use his share on alcohol and food, something to fill his stomach before bed, something to celebrate a victory with. 

Charlie doesn’t feel like it was a victory.

She couldn’t save Elena or Yuffie, and she couldn’t even save herself. She had to beg for help from Cloud, had to wait for the Turks to come save her. And even then, Cloud surely only came for Yuffie and his materia. 

Before turning back around to face the water, Charlie watches Cid stand up from his place beside Vincent, brushing himself off. He’s taken his jacket off, and the short sleeves of the white undershirt he wears are tight around his biceps. She’s always liked his arms. 

At the very thought, Charlie turns away from him, blushing. It makes her feel bad, looking at him so intently, admiring the way his muscles strain underneath his tight t-shirt. 

She shouldn’t be thinking like that. She shouldn’t be _looking_ like that. 

Giving her head a slight shake, she asks Cait Sith, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“It was nothing,” the cat answers hastily. “Nothing at all.”

They’re quiet for a minute, until Charlie hears Cid crawling up onto the _Tiny Bronco_ clumsily and drunkenly, a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. 

“Mind if I join you?” Cid asks, one hand on his hip as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Give us a minute alone, would you, Cait?”

Cait Sith looks up at her warily, but Charlie smiles at him. The cat takes his sweet time leaving, but does so without another word. His moogle waits in the water to take him back to shore. As soon as he’s gone, Cid takes his place, sitting beside her on the wing. 

“Think the cat’s got a crush on you, Miss Shinra,” Cid mutters, putting his cigarette out on the metal wing and flicking the butt back towards land. “Want me to tell him he doesn’t stand a chance?”

“Against who?”

“The entire human population.”

Charlie laughs softly. “Fair enough.”

“Why don’t you come have a drink with us?”

“I don’t belong with them,” she reminds him, giving her shoulders a slight shrug. “Besides, I’m a sad drunk.”

“Y’know . . .” Cid sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s shed his flying goggles, as well, but she only notices now that he’s close to her. “You were pretty brave back there, when Corneo was threatenin’ you.”

She laughs again, this time dryly, humorlessly. It seems forced and pulled from her unwillingly, a nervous little thing. “I was terrified,” she admits, and it’s the truth. “I thought I was going to die there.”

“Shit, I’m glad you didn’t. To tell you the truth, I was scared shitless, too.” He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “Lotta stars out tonight.”

Charlie isn’t even looking at the stars. She’s looking at his face, bathed in pale moonlight, the shadow of a beard on his face and a shallow cut on his forehead. Even now, she can’t believe he’s here. She’s afraid to blink, afraid that she’ll wake from a dream, alone in her cell again. 

“Don’t you hate me?” she whispers. “After everything?”

Cid looks at her, chewing on the inside of his good cheek. “No.” 

The breath leaves her audibly. It makes her blush. 

“You’ve changed, Lottie.”

She raises an eyebrow, softening at the sight of his lips twitching, the corners quirking upwards ever so slightly. “How so?” 

“You ain’t funny anymore,” he tells her, without a shred of hesitation. 

“Well, you haven’t changed a bit.” 

“How would you know what I’m like?”

“Crass, arrogant, reckless, completely without respect for authority—”

Before she can finish her thought, Cid puts a rough hand on her back and pushes her forward, sending her falling off the wing of the _Tiny Bronco_ and splashing into the water, still wearing her clothes. At least she had taken her shoes off before wading through the water to reach the plane. The water is deep enough for her to submerge completely, sending a shock through her system. 

Charlie surfaces, spitting water out of her mouth and coughing. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you!”

Cid is standing up on the wing, taking his boots off and emptying his pockets. “You were due for a bath anyway,” he teases, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it aside with a dramatic flourish. “I could smell you from over by the fire.”

She averts her eyes quickly at the sight of his bare torso, not wanting to look at all. Thankfully, Cid jumps into the water before she can see more, surfacing right in front of her and shaking his hair out, droplets splattering all over her face. 

Treading water clumsily, Charlie slaps him on the shoulder. “That’s exactly what I was talking about, you _asshole!_ ” she hisses, but it only makes him smile. “You have no respect for any authority—”

“You ain’t the vice president here, honey,” he interrupts her, dipping his head back to get his hair wet again. His chest breaches the surface and Charlie purses her lips tight. There’s some light scarring, pink and shiny in the white light of the moon. “You’re just one of us fugitives now. And I know I’m pretty new ‘round here, but I think Cloud’s in charge, not you.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to push me off planes and into water,” she snaps. 

“Do you ever shut your mouth?” Cid splashes her right in the face, laughing. 

“Stop it!” she shouts, splashing him back. “I’ll hold your head under until you stop!”

“All right, all right!” He holds his hands up in surrender, still grinning when Charlie stops slapping the water towards his face. 

And then he splashes her one last time. She screams through her teeth, but Cid seems to find delight in her stress. He moves forward and lowers himself to his chin, the water lapping at his bottom lip.

“You’re high-strung,” he notes. 

“Forgive me for reacting appropriately to the set of events that I’ve lived through recently,” she spits at him.

“No, you’ve always been like that.” He raises his eyebrows at her and slips beneath the water. 

Charlie sighs, looking around for a sign of Cid, who breaks the surface again right behind her. She turns around as quickly as she can. 

“But you don’t laugh as much as you used to. Bet I can make you laugh, Lottie.”

“I don’t feel like laughing right now.”

Cid’s smile doesn’t quite falter, but it softens to something a little more sympathetic than mocking. “All right,” he says quietly. “What do you feel like doin’?”

“Crying.”

“Okay. But I can’t promise you’ll see any tears from _me_.”

He smiles again, all teeth. There’s a slight gap between his front teeth, but she likes it, the little imperfections that make him human, that remind her this isn’t a dream. 

It makes her heart beat impossibly fast. It’s real, _he’s_ real, but how can he possibly smile at her? She’s everything that Avalanche and their group of friends hate—she’s a Shinra, and they should have let her die on that mountain before she causes them any more trouble. 

Any day now, any moment, they’re going to remember who she is and what she’s capable of and who might come after her. Any moment now they’re going to tell her to get lost, to find her own friends, her own family, to go back to Midgar and be the vice president. 

“You gonna run away from me again?” he asks, his smile fading. “You got that look in your eye.”

Charlie watches him tread water for a moment, arms moving back and forth across the water’s surface, tanned and wet and scarred. “I’m just tired, and I need to change out of these clothes,” she tells him.

“What’re you doin’ here with those morons, Lottie?”

She thinks for a moment, but decides not to answer in the end. Charlie splashes him playfully in the face, ducking below the water as he calls out her name. She swims past him, towards the belly of the _Tiny Bronco_ , where her feet are able to find sandy ground again. When she breaks the surface, the night air is cold against her face and Cid turns himself around to face her. 

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you,” he scoffs, making his way towards her with leisurely strokes until he reaches the shallows again, standing up straight and allowing her the sight of him shirtless, oblivious, and dripping with water. 

“You have to catch me first,” she teases.

Charlie runs through the water towards the beach, her soaking wet clothes slowing her down. She looks over her shoulder to see Cid moving much quicker than expected, and she shrieks when he leaps forward and wraps his arms around her waist, bringing her back down into the water, her upper half face-down against the coarse sand of the beach. 

“Caught you,” he jeers, flipping her over so she’s able to look up into his face.

Someone is laughing by the campfire. Probably Yuffie. 

With a hand on either side of her, trapping her against the beach, Cid looks down at her incredulously. Charlie can’t figure out why, until she realizes that the laughter is coming from _her_ , breathless and uncontrollable. Her entire body shakes with it, and her cheeks begin to hurt from the wide grin on her face, splayed out underneath him. 

How long has it been since she’s laughed like this?

Cid sighs heavily and happily, collapsing onto his back in the sand with his arms and legs spread out. “Told you I could make you laugh.”

* * *

She sleeps so quietly she could be dead for all he knows. 

She’s curled up by the fire, never wanting to sleep in a tent. She uses Cait Sith’s moogle as a pillow, a scratchy blanket and Vincent’s bright red cloak thrown over her, pulled up to her mouth. Her face is a little sunburnt, and some light freckles have appeared on her forehead and the bridge of her nose, but he’d only noticed those while he was inches from her face. 

Her hair is still wet, splayed around her like a goddamn golden halo. 

Cid smiles a small little smile to himself as he pokes at the dying fire, forcing his eyes away from Charlie. 

It’s quiet now, with nearly everyone having gone to sleep slightly drunk and very full. Snoring reaches his ears from the tent where Barret sleeps. The only people still awake besides himself now are Vincent and Aerith, and the three of them sit in silence for a long time. 

“You _like_ her,” Aerith whispers in a sing-song voice, careful not to wake the sleeping vice president beside her. Damn her—she must have caught him looking. 

Even Vincent turns eyes on Cid, waiting almost expectantly for an answer. 

Cid scoffs. What a ridiculous idea, even though holding himself above her earlier had made him blush. Cid Highwind _doesn’t_ blush. “She’s all right, for a Shinra.”

He feels bad about it after he says it. It probably would have hurt Charlie’s feelings if she heard him say that. 

“I mean . . .” Cid shifts uncomfortably. “Ah, what the hell do you two know about it anyway?”

Aerith jumps to her defense, surprising him. “She’s a nice girl, and she likes you. Why would you say something like that?”

“I think I know her a little better than you do, princess, okay?” Cid retorts, trying not to sound too short. 

He knows that Charlie’s probably told Aerith all kinds of things about him, things Cid doesn’t want anyone to know. He can imagine Charlie telling Aerith in a scandalous whisper about how such a pathetic little pilot had dragged her out to an open field to kiss her before blasting off into space for who knows how long. He can imagine them both laughing at his crooked teeth and broken nose and swollen face.

The walk back to the _Tiny Bronco_ had been unnaturally upbeat. They had traveled together as one big group, had been happy to have their materia back, and glad that they had been able to escape Don Corneo and the Turks without too much effort.

Charlie had walked behind the group, carrying her new backpack on her back, filled with clothes and necessities that she hadn’t been able to bring with her during her quick getaway from Rocket Town. 

It had been sweet of her to split the money, and there had been a lot of it to go around. No one even thanked her except for himself, Tifa, and Aerith. Barret seemed to think it was her duty to give back to the people. Cid would have insisted on thanks, he thinks, if he was the one giving out free money. 

Once they had set up camp, Charlie had pulled out from her bag some purple apple that she had bought from a fruit stand selling imported foods (Cid thinks the seller had overcharged her, but Charlie wanted the apple no matter what), and gone off on her own to eat it by herself a healthy distance away from the fire, sitting on the wing of his airplane. 

Cait Sith had been the one to tell him the fruit she bought was called a dumbapple. 

“What a stupid fuckin’ name,” was Cid’s answer, but maybe he was just angry that Charlie didn’t want to spend time with him. 

“Leave her be,” the cat had said as Cid stood to go sit with her. “She wants to be alone right now.”

He had listened to Cait’s suggestion, albeit grudgingly.

There’s something sad about Lottie. He doesn’t think anyone else really notices besides Cait Sith, but he thinks that’s because no one really knows her. Even just seeing her go off on her own, not wanting to be surrounded by people and the center of attention, is unlike her. 

When she had come to Rocket Town to study the stars, there had still been some fight left in her, and she had been a welcome presence among his friends. Charlie hadn’t seemed out of place or uncomfortable, inserting herself forcibly into Cid’s life again whether he liked it or not. 

Now, she’s so quiet that sometimes Cid fears she’s slipped away from them, gone to them, gone to _him_. He knows he’s walking a fine line thinking things like that, but sometimes it feels like they’re both young again (or at least, _he_ feels that way), and not a day has passed since the days of the _Highwind’s_ completion. 

He’s noticed something, however, that he’s been too much of a goddamn coward to bring up. 

Lottie isn’t wearing her engagement ring. He can’t believe he didn’t notice right away, but he hadn’t even been thinking about it. He had only noticed when he held her hand yesterday, urging her to walk across the bridge that even scared the hell out of _him_. 

He doesn’t want to bring it up, afraid that she’ll admit she’s still engaged, but left her ring behind so as to not lose it or dirty it or whatever the fuck excuse she has prepared. 

But it gives him hope, and remembering her sweet laughter on the beach and the way she had looked up at him through her long lashes and the way she had smiled at him just before going to sleep . . . 

Staying with Cloud and his friends may very well be the best goddamn decision he’s ever made in his life. 

* * *

_The president ain’t answerin’ his phone. Why don’t you go and check on him? And for the record, if you tell him I let Charlie go, I’ll fucking kill you. Got it?_

Reeve can’t believe he’s been given babysitting duty (by _Reno_ , of all people), but it’s been almost a week since the Turks have heard from the president, and every time Reeve finds himself outside the president’s office for advice on a way to proceed with the city or for a signature on some paperwork, the office always seems to be empty. 

Really, Rufus has withdrawn himself almost completely from the public eye ever since Charlie had jumped onto the wing of the _Tiny Bronco_ with Cid Highwind. 

Reeve goes to knock on the door to Rufus’s apartment that evening. Reno shouldn’t have even worried about the president finding out about Charlie’s escape from Wutai, as Reeve never intended to tell anyone. 

They’re far removed from Wutai now, anyway. Cid had sailed the downed plane around half the western continent until they had reached the southern coast. All the while, Reeve had been forced to watch Charlie and Cid grow closer, teasing each other and flirting with each other and smiling at each other. 

He takes solace in the fact that they haven’t started sleeping together, but he doesn’t want to speak too soon. Reeve wouldn’t put it past Cid to try something so scandalous, with no thought as to what Charlie might want. 

While their goal had initially been the Temple of the Ancients, those plans have been put on a temporary hiatus. After coming across a weapons dealer on their way to a village that hopefully had an inn, they had learned of something called a Keystone that was said to unlock an old, almost _ancient_ temple, a Keystone that had recently been sold to Dio from Gold Saucer. 

So the next morning, everyone had packed their things, boarded the _Tiny Bronco_ once more, and Cid found a river that cut through the western continent, shaving days off their trip back to the Gold Saucer. By Reeve’s approximation, they should arrive at the amusement park by this evening—even late afternoon if they encounter no trouble. 

The thing is, Reeve finds, is that it’s much easier to remember his original goal while looking at Cid Highwind through Cait Sith’s eyes. While there is still some lingering guilt about what is to come, mainly guilt that’s focused more towards Charlie, Reeve knows that he shouldn’t worry too much about Tseng getting his hands on her. 

Tseng knows what awaits her in Midgar, and will not release her to Rufus so carelessly. Even Reno had known that, and it was why he let Charlie go. Reeve had never been more grateful towards a Turk in his entire life. 

There’s shouting on the other side of the door. Reeve can hear Rufus yelling incoherently, and a woman with a high-pitched voice huffing and puffing. Someone storms around the apartment, and Reeve knocks again, but no one bothers to answer. 

For some reason, he tries to open the door, surprised to find that it’s unlocked. He lets himself in and is horrified by the scene in front of him. 

A young girl is wandering around the apartment, mostly nude. Clothes are scattered all over the living room, but it’s not just her clothes. The apartment is a sty, the kitchen overflowing with dishes and the sofa being used as Rufus’s personal closet. 

When Rufus, fully dressed, spies Reeve from the threshold of his bedroom, he retreats and slams the door like a petulant child. The girl pulls a skirt up, completely unabashed with her nakedness. 

“Aren’t you going to pay me?” she shouts, picking up a shirt off the back of the sofa and pulling it over her head. “Hello!” The girl pounds at Rufus’s bedroom door, and Reeve quickly decides that’s the worst idea he’s ever seen be executed. “You still owe me for tonight!”

“Here, I’ll pay you,” he offers, and the girl gives him a number that he’s sure is an exaggeration, but he pulls his wallet out and pays her without complaint. “What happened?”

The girl looks pleased to have someone to tell. “He couldn’t get it up,” she explains, walking out the door and slamming it shut behind her. 

“Is she finally gone?” comes Rufus’s voice, and the door to his bedroom opens slowly. There’s a scowl on his face, and he doesn’t look well. 

His skin looks almost gray and slightly waxy, his hair is unkempt and falling into his eyes, lacking its usual luster. The scowl looks permanent, eyes glossed over and his clothes looking as if he’s slept in them. 

Reeve has never seen Charlie’s brother look anything less than regal, always elegant and looking well-cared for. With his sharp features and cold voice, there is still a sense of importance that’s visible to Reeve, to someone who knows Rufus, but the boy also wouldn’t seem too out of place beneath the plate, lining up for their daily meal.

It’s pathetic, and while there’s a sense of satisfaction that accompanies seeing the president in such a vulnerable position, Reeve can’t help but feel sad for him. 

“Mr. President,” Reeve begins, not knowing where to sit or if he should help clean. Everything seems so dirty and Rufus doesn’t seem himself. “It’s come to my attention that the Turks have been unable to get ahold of you.”

“So they sent you?” Rufus snorts, falling backwards on the sofa and crossing one leg over the other. “Gods, that woman was a bore. Did you see her? She was a little bit too plain for me, and you should have heard the way she talked. They should just train the girls down there to keep their mouths shut. Even _I’m_ not that desperate.”

Reeve raises his eyebrows and nods, if only to appease him. When Rufus lifts his eyes and looks fully into Reeve’s face, he looks a little drunk. The scent of scotch hangs in the air, but that might be the scotch bottle sitting on the kitchen counter, opened and lying on its side.

Rufus opens his arms wide, the top two buttons on his shirt left undone. “As you can see, _Director_ —” Yes, Reeve thinks, definitely drunk—“I’m in perfect health. Why don’t you run back to the Turks now and leave me the hell alone?”

“We’re only worried about you—”

“Worried about _me?_ ” Rufus scoffs, getting to his feet and swaying slightly. “What a refreshing change of pace, Director, to have someone worry about _me_ instead of _Charlie._ ”

“Your sister has nothing to do with this, sir.”

“My sister has _everything_ to do with this!” he snarls, and Reeve blushes, inclining his head respectfully and holding his hands behind his back. “She’s a goddamn liar, Reeve, promising that she wouldn’t leave, telling me that she loved me, and the first chance to gets to be with that moronic pilot again, she takes it—” 

Reeve remains quiet, even as Rufus stops abruptly. Suddenly, the scowl on his face twists into something malicious and cold, something that tells Reeve he is probably not going to escape this apartment completely whole. 

“Don’t you want to know what happened, Reeve?” Rufus asks, moving closer, unable to walk a straight line, but making his way closer regardless. “Don’t you want to know what Charlie promised me? Don’t you want to know what happened to her the night I saw her in her cell?”

His lips feel as if they’re glued shut. Of course he doesn’t want to know. Whatever it is can’t be good, or else Rufus wouldn’t be so eager and excited about it. 

Rufus runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t my sweet sister tell you about us, Director?”

“I don’t know that Charlie would appreciate—”

“She never told you that, on nights when she felt really lonely, she would sneak into my bed?” the president hisses, sneering at him. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, of course, that the last night I saw her, the night before she left Rocket Town with that worthless sad sack (and I don’t mean _you_ this time) . . .” 

Rufus isn’t at all ashamed. Charlie would be squirming, crying, begging to talk about something else. He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence, standing there tall and proud, his expression very indicative of what had transpired between him and his sister.

“Don’t worry,” he says, probably upon noticing the slight look of discomfort on Reeve’s face, “Charlie has never let me fuck her.”

He feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. The back of his neck feels very warm. He shouldn’t be hearing this. He shouldn’t be humoring Rufus. The casual way Rufus says it makes Reeve feel nauseous, like the idea of sleeping with his sister doesn’t bother the president at all.

One of Rufus’s thin eyebrows arches. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Not that I haven’t tried, of course. Sometimes I wonder how _you_ , of all people, convinced my sweet sister to spread her legs.”

_I was kinder,_ Reeve thinks bitterly. “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I would rather not discuss my sexual relationship with your sister right now.”

Rufus looks livid. Reeve tries to think of all the possible reasons as to why the president might look so angry with him, but the only possible conclusion he comes up with is his recent engagement to Charlie. 

Perhaps it had been a mistake. It was an easy one to make, as Charlotte was beautiful and young and in love with him and eager to sleep with him. Reeve hadn’t had the willpower to refuse her, not when she was everything he wanted for so long, but he had never once stopped to consider what a relationship with Charlie might mean in regards to her family. 

If he had known, all those years ago, what the outcome of their engagement would be, would he have still done it? Would he have still responded to her kiss so hungrily, would he have still carried her off to bed with a heart that throbbed in time with other parts of his body?

“Is this how you feel?” Rufus asks again, splaying a hand over his chest. “Is this how you felt when Charlie left you?”

Reeve clears his throat. He isn’t going to stand here and tell Rufus that waking up to find Charlie’s engagement ring had shaken him to his core, had caused him to cry into his hands for a little while, had broken his heart. 

“I’ve done everything for her,” he rambles drunkenly, and the sight makes Reeve sad again. “I bought her everything she wanted, I held her when she wanted to be loved, I protected her when I could. I loved her, and she lied and left.”

_That sounds familiar._ Hadn’t he done all those same things? Hadn’t Reeve spoiled her with material things and affection and love, all while watching other men break her heart?

“What more could she possibly want?” Rufus snaps, sounding more angry with himself than anything. “What more could I have possibly given her to make her stay?”

Reeve doesn’t have an answer for him. If he did, he might have had Charlie back weeks ago. 


	47. Chapter 47

“Dio’s showroom,” Charlie says with a soft sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as Cloud and Aerith lift their eyes to the gaudy marquee above the door. “I’m sure the Keystone is in there.”

“You think he’ll let us borrow it?” Aerith asks. 

“We’ll ask nicely first,” Charlie replies, offering her a small smile and leading the way into Dio’s showroom. “And if he doesn’t want to let us borrow it, then I’ll just have to exert my power as the vice president.”

Many of Dio’s trophies are worthless, just collectors’ items with no real value, paintings of leaders from hundreds of years ago, or foreign items that look aesthetically pleasing, even if they do absolutely nothing. There’s a narrow door at the back that’s framed by weapons hanging on the wall. 

It’s almost too easy to find the Keystone among them, the one thing that looks severely out of place within the small and cluttered room. 

It’s set neatly upon a pedestal, the color shifting with the lights. One second it looks pale green, and the next second there’s more blue to it. It’s small enough to fit in the palm of Charlie’s hand, the same size as the other materia they’ve been carrying around. 

“You’re back!”

Charlie, Cloud, and Aerith all jump, turning to find Dio walking into the showroom, his muscular body oiled up and his dark hair slicked back. He’s smiling jovially, as if meeting them here again is his greatest pleasure. 

“Long time no see, friends. Madam Vice President, looking lovely as ever,” Dio says, shaking hands with everyone and stepping up to Cloud’s side in order to admire the Keystone with them. “You like that, don’t you, boy? It’s my most recent addition to my collection. Cost me quite a bit, but it is quite something, don’t you think?”

“Do you think we could borrow it?” Cloud asks him, with a little less charm than Charlie would have used. 

Dio laughs, but not unkindly. “Sorry, boy, but that isn’t for rent. _However_ . . .” He looks curiously from Cloud to Charlie to Aerith and back again. “Since you’re traveling with the vice president, and since you’ve been good to me in the past . . .”

“Dio, remember that you threw these people into Corel Prison without hearing a confession,” Charlie says, raising her eyebrows in a very stern way, the same way that Tseng might upon catching her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. 

Dio colors, but doesn’t back down. “How about I let you have it on one condition? What do you say, boy?” He looks at Cloud again, flexing his biceps. “I’m in the mood to be entertained.”

Cloud looks very uncomfortable with this prospect, shifting on his feet and putting a hand on his hip. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m not asking you for anything crazy,” Dio reassures him, laughing again and clapping Cloud on the shoulder. “You look like a fighter, boy, and this is the Battle Square, isn’t it? Why don’t you give myself and these lovely young ladies a show?”

It looks like the very last thing Cloud wants to do, but with some subtle encouragement from both Aerith and Charlie, Dio is able to convince him to step up into the Battle Square proper, wielding the Buster Sword and ready for a fight. His progress is monitored on the many screens throughout the arena, and Charlie and Aerith watch as he hacks monsters to bits, working his way through the many unfair handicaps that Dio imposes on him, always followed by a laugh. 

Charlie watches carefully. She doesn’t typically see Cloud do much fighting, as she’s always left behind when they’re traveling on foot, while the fighters do the scouting. 

Angeal never used his sword. Even when he was training, he always used the standard broadsword issued to every SOLDIER, no matter their class. To be sure, he was very good with it, and just as effective as his other friends with their custom blades. 

Cloud certainly fights with the skill of a SOLDIER First Class. She hasn’t thought much about his claims since first hearing them upon the ship headed for Costa del Sol (that seems a lifetime ago to her), but Charlie still can’t recall ever seeing him before in her life. 

She can’t help but feel, however, that if Angeal knew how Cloud was using his sword, he might be rolling in his grave. 

She’s been thinking of him a lot lately, and Charlie can’t even explain why. Ever since seeing that lone dumbapple sitting pretty on the fruit stand in Wutai, his face has been ever present in the back of her mind. The seller had charged her a fortune, and the dumbapple hadn’t been in the best of shape, but she wanted it bad. 

It seemed like a sign, to find a dumbapple so far from Banora Village, almost the entire way across the planet. To be traveling with the man that now holds the Buster Sword, to be traveling with the girl who once loved Zack . . . the dumbapple had _certainly_ been a sign, a sign of courage, a sign that she was in the right place at the right time. 

It had been _reassuring_ to see the purple fruit, like it was telling her she was going to be all right, that she was going to be okay, that she was doing the right thing. 

The only thing she had regretted, while eating it alone that night, was the fact that Tseng wasn’t around to share it with, that he wasn’t around to reminisce with her about their old friends. She had to do that part by herself, and it had been hard to be alone, thinking of someone no one even remembers or cares about anymore. 

The memory in question hadn’t been a particularly bad one. It had been one of her first memories with Angeal, in fact, and one of her favorites. 

She had been working outside for some reason, probably because she hated her office so much and it was a nice day, and that’s when three SOLDIERs had come out to train in full view of her. SOLDIERs never trained outside, always locking themselves in the VR training rooms provided for them in order to maximize their time and experience. 

It had been hot that day, abnormally so for early spring in Midgar. 

It wasn’t the first time Charlie had seen Angeal fight, but it had been the first time she had seen _Sephiroth_ fight. He had been an absolute machine, not even breaking a sweat against Angeal, smiling the entire while and moving so quickly that it was impossible for Charlie to keep up with the movements of his blade. 

“I think he likes you,” Genesis had told her quietly, flashing her a charming little smile and sitting down at the table she had set up at. 

Charlie could hardly believe it. “Who?”

That had made him laugh. For some reason, she remembered feeling like he was mocking her with that laughter. “Angeal, of course.”

She had remembered, too, how fast her heart had beat. After he had saved her from the attack on HQ, she had been batting her eyelashes at Angeal for weeks and thought it was all for nothing. “How do you know?”

“I don’t think it a coincidence that he wanted to train _here_ , where the only person around to watch is _you_ , Miss Shinra.”

“Do you think he would walk me home if I asked?”

Charlie had been thrilled when Angeal had agreed to walk her home that night, and she had immediately sprinted all the way to Veld’s office, where Tseng had promised to wait for her. Veld wouldn’t dare let her walk home without an escort. 

“Oh, please, please, please, please, please,” she had begged him, trapping him against the wall and clasping her hands together in front of his face. “Please, Tseng, please let him walk me home, please, please, please, I don’t want him to think I’m weird when he sees a Turk following me and I like him so much—”

“All right, all right, fine,” Tseng had replied irritably, after spending two minutes trying to get around her to leave the office. 

Angeal had indeed walked her home that night, the perfect gentleman. She doesn’t really remember what they had talked about, but Charlie remembers holding onto his arm, pressing fingertips lightly into his solid biceps, remembers saying an awkward good-bye at the door to her home. 

Aerith cheers and claps as Cloud finishes the final battle, looking exhausted, glistening with sweat, and bleeding from a few shallow cuts that look like they won’t cause him much trouble. Charlie smiles at him as he steps out of the arena, clapping along with Aerith as he grins weakly, sighing and putting the sword on his back once more.

Dio is equally as impressed, and he gives them the Keystone as promised. Charlie holds it in her hands for a moment, admiring it before passing it off to Aerith, who then passes it off to Cloud. 

“Shall we get going, then?” Aerith asks, sounding almost excited. “I think everyone is waiting by the tram for us.”

* * *

“Bad news, Lottie.”

“What’s going on?” Charlie pushes gently past Cloud and Aerith to step closer to the employee barring them access to the tram. The rest of her friends move without needing to be asked, and for once, Charlie is glad that she’s the vice president. “Let us through, please. We have places to be.”

“I—I’m sorry, ma’am,” the girl stutters, wringing her hands together in front of her. “The tram is out of service for the night, but—but I’m sure it will be fixed by tomorrow morning, ma’am. Until then, we can’t let anyone ride it—it’s a liability—I—you understand, of course. Ma’am.”

“Well, maybe Lottie and I could help take a look at it,” Cid suggests, stepping up to Charlie’s side and trying to make himself look intimidating. She can’t help but smile up at him, stifling her laughter. “We know a little somethin’ about somethin’.”

“What?” Charlie looks up at him, scoffing. “I don’t know how to fix a tram.”

“How different can it be from a rocket ship?”

“ _Very_ different!”

“Oh, please, no, I couldn’t ask that of you!” the girl answers, blushing furiously. 

“We could always stay at the hotel tonight,” Cait Sith says quickly, raising his arms to get everyone’s attention. “They know me there! I’m sure we could—”

“You do know that Lottie’s a _Shinra_ , right?” Cid scoffs, throwing an arm around her shoulders and leading her away from the tram. “She can get us some damn rooms without any help from a damn cat. C’mon, y’all.” And, once Cid and Charlie put some distance between them and the group, he glances over his shoulder at them and asks her quietly, “You _can_ get us some rooms, can’t you?”

“Yes,” she chuckles, looking up at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t make you sleep in the lobby of that big, scary, haunted hotel.”

Cid smiles toothily. “What would we do without you?”

* * *

“We don’t usually get the chance to be together like this, huh?”

Cait Sith is right, truthfully. They’re always split up when on land, cramped together too tightly to be comfortable on the _Tiny Bronco._ Being able to spread out without having to worry about monsters jumping out at them is refreshing. 

“Yeah,” Cid says from his position upon the arm of the chair Charlie is sitting in, all of them taking advantage of the empty hotel lobby. “Listen, Lottie and I are kinda new to this whole Sephiroth thing, and I think we missed a lot.”

“Speak for yourself,” she reminds him, giving him a gentle elbow to the stomach. “I’ve probably known Sephiroth longer than any of you.”

“And I don’t know what’s goin’ on because I wasn’t here in the beginning,” Cait Sith adds quickly. 

“Good idea,” Vincent agrees, standing in the corner nearest Charlie and Cid. 

“Come on, Cloud. We want to hear what’s going on,” Charlie nods. She won’t deny that she’s eager for information regarding Sephiroth. She doesn’t really know why they’re tracking him to the places they have been, but maybe she’ll finally find out. 

Then again, Charlie doesn’t really care where they go anymore, so long as Cid comes with them. 

“I’ve been here since the beginning, and I _still_ don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on,” Barret admits, shrugging his shoulders when Tifa turns to give him an exasperated smile. 

Cloud crosses his arms over his chest and thinks, exchanging a sideways glance with Aerith, who nods encouragingly at him. His wounds have been patched up and cleaned. 

“All right,” he sighs, “we’re going after Sephiroth, who’s going after the Promised Land.”

Charlie frowns, sitting up a little straighter. 

“What the hell is the Promised Land?” Cid asks.

She’s just glad she has an answer for him. “The Promised Land is a place full of infinite mako energy,” Charlie explains, adding, “or so my father believed.”

“So does it even exist?” Cid asks, the side of his body pressing against Charlie’s shoulder. She shrugs in return. It’s anyone’s guess whether or not it exists, but truthfully, she’s doubtful. 

Aerith steps forward, looking around at all of her friends. “The Cetra return to the Promised Land, a place that promises supreme and boundless happiness.”

“Well, guess your dad was wrong, huh?” Yuffie says, scrunching her nose at Charlie. 

Charlie shrugs, at a loss. 

Barret blinks at Aerith in surprise. “The Cetra?”

“The Ancients,” Aerith elaborates. “That’s what they called themselves. The Cetra. Didn’t you listen to anything the elders said at Cosmo Canyon?” She inhales deeply, holding her hands in front of her. “You don’t _know_ where the Promised Land is. You search and you travel until you _feel_ it, until you feel that you’ve found the Promised Land.”

_This is what Sephiroth wanted to keep from my father? A fairytale?_ Charlie gazes off into the distance, staring at the worn carpet and tapping her chin slowly with her index finger. 

“Can you feel it, too, Aerith?” Cloud asks, turning to face her.

“I think so,” she answers quietly, unsure of herself.

“So Sephiroth is after the Promised Land?” Tifa thinks aloud. “That’s all he’s after?”

“Well, he’s searching for one other thing besides that,” Aerith continues, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“The Black Materia,” Cloud murmurs to himself.

That’s the first that Charlie is hearing of _that_ , as well. She can’t keep quiet any longer. “What’s the Black Materia?”

“Dio told me that a man in a black cape came here lookin’ for the Black Materia,” Cait Sith reminds them all. 

“Sephiroth?” Cid grunts.

“No, I don’t think so.” Tifa’s eyebrows knit together, a crease appearing between them. “When we went to Nibelheim, the village was full of these people in black capes with tattoos. How many do you think there are?”

“You know, of course.” Nanaki turns to show off the black tattoo on his front left leg. “I’m number thirteen. Hojo gave it to me.”

Tifa gasps. “So there are _at least_ thirteen?”

“I think Hojo had something to do with those men in black capes, too.” Aerith gives her head a slight shake. “But I don’t know what that would have to do with Sephiroth.”

“What do you know about this, Charlie?” Cloud asks her directly, and everyone turns to face Charlie.

She clears her throat, wishing she had more information to give them. “I don’t know anything about black-caped men,” she says with a frown. “Professor Hojo’s work was kept very quiet, especially from me. I doubt even my father knew half of what he did, and my brother knows even less, I’m sure.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Cloud is lost in thought, but Aerith approaches him and puts a hand on his arm. “I think we should just go after Sephiroth himself.”

“Me too,” Barret says with a nod. “We’ll leave tomorrow mornin’, when the tram is repaired.”

After that, everyone makes their way up the stairs one at a time, ready for bed. It’s still early, but they’ve had a long few days of travel, sailing nearly around the western continent in about a week. Charlie watches them go, until she and Cid are the only ones remaining in the lobby. 

She can’t stop thinking about Sephiroth, about what she’s doing chasing after him, about why she’s doing it. She doesn’t stand a chance against Sephiroth, and if she comes face to face with him, it’s likely that he’ll cut her down first, just to finish off one more Shinra. 

Cid’s elbow jabbing against her ribs brings her out of reverie. She looks up, blinking at him, rubbing her side. “Did you just hear a single thing I said?” he smiles.

“Sorry, no.”

“You’re really gonna make me say it again?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she snaps, feeling tired herself. At least being the vice president means she gets a room to herself at the Gold Saucer. 

“I was only teasin’—” Cid swipes at her sleeve as she gets up out of the chair and makes to follow the rest of their party upstairs. “Hey, wait a minute. You ain’t goin’ to bed yet, are you?”

“Where else would I go?”

Cid flushes furiously, releasing her arm and rubbing at the back of his neck. After having taken a shower and stripping out of dirty and sweat-stained clothing, he looks nicer than she’s seen him yet on the road. His hair is a mess from dragging his fingers through it over and over and his forehead has awkward tan lines from the goggles he tends to wear while sailing the _Tiny Bronco_ , but he’s shaved his face, making him look years younger, though Charlie thinks she prefers the scruff.

He’s even chosen to wear a brand new shirt purchased in Wutai underneath his trademark jacket, something that makes him look a little more like a tourist than a pilot, with a red floral pattern and buttons down the front, though he’s left the top three unbuttoned. 

“Well, y’know . . . we’ve got nothin’ better to do, really . . . and . . . it’s still kinda early, and . . . well, maybe if you wanted to . . .” It seems like it’s painful for Cid to say the words, and it’s almost equally painful to watch him struggle so much. “. . . I ain’t ever been here before, so . . . maybe you could . . . y’know, show me ‘round?”

Charlie falters, blushing equally as hard. “You want to check out Gold Saucer?”

“Yeah,” he answers hastily. “Sure.”

“You want to check out Gold Saucer . . . with me?”

“Shit, kid, if you don’t wanna—”

Charlie hesitates, smiling up at him. “No, it’s not that . . . it’s just . . .” 

“It’s just what?”

“Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?”

“Goddamnit, Lottie, do you wanna go or not?”

She does. She really does. But she has so much to think about, so much to remember, so much to dwell on. “I don’t know,” she answers, watching his expression instantly turn to one of exasperation. “I’m feeling kind of tired.”

“I know you’re thinkin’ ‘bout what happened in Wutai, ‘cause I’m still thinkin’ ‘bout it, too. But you deserve this.” Cid steps closer, and Charlie instinctively takes one step back, mentally kicking herself after realizing she’s done it now. “Let’s have a little fun tonight, honey. Just you and me. There’s gotta be somethin’ here you’ll enjoy.”

Charlie wraps her arms around herself, looking away from him. She feels so embarrassed she could die. What about him makes her feel so small? 

“And I wanna spend time with you, Lottie.”

She blushes again, looking back into his face. “Why? I’m a Shinra.”

“Not while you’re with us. One night off. You need a distraction. One night to not think about Sephiroth, about the fuckin’ Black Materia—whatever the hell that is—and no thinkin’ ‘bout anythin’ other than how much goddamn fun you’re havin’ with me.”

Looking at it that way, it makes Charlie feel a little bit better. Maybe she does deserve this. She’s spent enough time feeling sorry for herself lately, dragging her feet and keeping her mouth shut to avoid conflict with anyone. 

She wonders if it’s another sign that tonight happens to be what the employees call “Enchantment Night”, making all the attractions free (not that anyone would make _her_ pay for any of the attractions). 

“Do you want to go bet on some chocobo races?” she asks, chewing on her lower lip as they linger in the entrance hall. Cid looks horribly uncomfortable and out of place, looking around the brightly lit atrium as if it’s the last place in the world he wants to be. 

“I don’t really have a lotta money,” he admits with a nervous laugh, raking his fingers through his hair again. “I ain’t rich like you, princess.”

“That’s okay. We could do something else, like . . . we could play some games in the Wonder Square,” she says, pointing to the colorful tunnel that will lead them to their destination. “You could win me a prize, if you’re good enough.”

“That so?”

Charlie smiles shyly at him, waiting for his response. “Come on. Think you’re strong enough to win an arm wrestling match?”

“ _What!_ ” he scoffs, curling his right arm to pose handsomely for her. “You _know_ I’m strong enough.”

She’s able to buy a little GP with what gil she’s saved up from their journey, and the receptionist, upon recognizing her as the vice president, gives her a bigger pouch of GP for nothing. Though he doesn’t voice it, Charlie thinks it makes Cid slightly uncomfortable, so she gives it back and takes only what she’s paid for. 

She lets him spend the GP however he wants, having played these games a hundred times before, enjoying the sight of him running around like a little kid, eyes alight with excitement at the idea of so much to do. 

And it turns out, Cid is _really_ good at the arcade games. He makes nearly every shot when playing basketball, pins the wrestler’s thick arm down within seconds, wins her a small stuffed gold chocobo with a bandana around its neck (which they agree to give to a crying child), and they even spend GP on a fortune, which tells them: “Never give up hope.”

“We could ask Cait Sith to tell our fortune when we see him again,” she thinks, feeling much better than she had upon their arrival. “He’s a fortune teller, you know.”

“Is he? I’ve never seen him read anyone’s fortune.”

“He read mine the first time I met him.”

“And? Was it good?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “No, he’s a terrible fortune teller. But he’s terribly cute, isn’t he?”

“Fuckin’ annoying is what he is,” Cid teases, probably only half-serious. 

“Okay, I have something else to show you,” she tells him, after he spends their last GP to throw a few more basketballs, “and I think you’ll like it.”

She takes him to the Speed Square next and has no trouble getting him on the coaster. Her aim is horrible, but he’s a good shot, and she spends more time looking at him than doing anything else. Seeing him smile makes her smile, and seeing him loosen up and have fun makes her genuinely happy for the first time in days. 

He looks years younger, like a boy, like the boy she knew when she worked alongside him on the _Highwind._

“You’ve been here a lot, huh?” he asks her when they step off, watching her fix her hair. 

“Yeah, when I was younger.” His shoulder bumps into hers when they walk out of the Speed Square, lingering at the many entrances and exits before them. Charlie thinks he’s been inching closer over the course of the night. “I think when I turned about thirteen, it lost a lot of its charm.”

Cid laughs loudly, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s okay, I guess. What else is there?”

“Well . . . there’s one more thing,” she says, suddenly sheepish. The last time she had gone on the gondola was with Reeve, and she feels horribly guilty when she thinks about him. “But I’d understand if you didn’t want to do it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the gondola. Didn’t you see it when we came in on the tram?”

“Why wouldn’t I wanna go on the gondola?”

“It’s sort of . . .” Charlie wants to slap herself. “It’s a little romantic. It might not be as exciting as the coaster.”

“Well, I might not get another chance to see it, right? So we should go check it out.”

“You sure you want to go on it with me?”

“Who else would I wanna go on the goddamn gondola with, Lottie?”

There’s no one in line for a gondola, and Charlie and Cid are able to walk right onto the ride. They sit across from each other, looking out the windows. It’s a view that she’s seen countless times, and one that is objectively and undeniably beautiful, and Cid is thrilled with how high they’re taken above the Gold Saucer, able to see the desert that surrounds them in the moonlight. 

“Ain’t that somethin’,” he sighs, looking out over the view, watching a few chocobos sprint by the tracks directly below them. After a moment, Cid turns away from the window and looks right at her, catching her staring. “And you weren’t gonna bring me up here.”

Charlie shrugs shyly, leaning against the wall of the small gondola lift and crossing her arms over her chest.

Cid traces his teeth with his tongue, never looking away from her. “Look, I, uh . . .” He smiles exasperatedly at himself, looking down and shaking his head before lifting his eyes again. “I gotta ask you somethin’.”

“Okay.”

He inhales deeply. If she didn’t know any better, he might be asking her to marry him. She’s never seen someone look so pained before asking a single question. “You ain’t wearin’ your ring.”

“Oh.” Charlie holds up her left hand. Her ring finger is bare. She misses it and misses the way people’s eyes were drawn to it and misses the way Reeve would bring her fingers to his mouth to kiss around it. “No, I suppose not.”

“How come? Didn’t wanna get it dirty on your little adventure?”

She blushes, looking out the window again. Damn him. He’s trapped her in the gondola where there’s no escape from his questions. “Actually, I’m not really engaged anymore.”

Charlie half-expects Cid to say something hurtful, to insult Reeve, but he doesn’t. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Charlie knows that Cid isn’t going to accept anything less than the truth. She hasn’t told anyone except Cloud and Aerith about the real reason she had left Costa del Sol on a whim, and they haven’t told anyone else. He’ll be able to tell if she’s lying, and if he thinks she’s lying, then it’s going to ruin their entire evening and all the fun they’ve been having.

But if she tells the truth, then she’s going to ruin their entire evening by being pathetic and sad and all she’s going to do is make him feel bad.

“Lottie, it’s all right, honey. You can tell me.”

She clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Maybe she can condense her story as much as possible, giving him an explanation that he might even sympathize with. “I found out some important things that have been kept secret from me for a long time,” she begins. “And Reeve was keeping many of those secrets himself.”

Cid doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s curious as to what those secrets could have been. 

And she can’t keep it in any longer. Perhaps it’s being forced into close confines with him that makes her feel that way. “Cid, I wish you would have left me on that mountain with Corneo. I wish you would have just let me die there.”

“What?” Cid scoffs, shaking his head. “No—no, no, no, no—” He moves quickly from his seat to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and placing a hand on her chin to turn her face towards him. “Don’t say that. I would’a never left you with that sleazy dick.”

Charlie shakes her head, trying to look away again, but he refuses to let go of her chin. His grip is gentle, though. It’s not the firm and possessive way that Rufus touches her. “Cid, please—”

“No, you listen to me,” he says, so close to her face that Charlie holds her breath, wondering if he’s going to kiss her. “You are fuckin’ insane if you think I would have ever left you with him. We saved Yuffie, didn’t we? And she’s the most goddamn annoyin’ kid I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“I don’t want anyone to put their own lives at risk for me—”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not worth it, okay? I’m not—I’m not worth all that trouble—”

“What?”

“I’m nothing,” she tries to tell him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist to lower it gently from her face. “I have nothing left in Midgar, the people I love have betrayed me in every possible sense of the word. I can’t fight, I can’t save myself from danger. I’m useless and I have nowhere to go, and you should have just let him kill me. At least that would have made _some_ people happy—”

“ _Fuck_ Midgar,” Cid answers, so confident that it throws her off guard. “What’s in Midgar for you? A bunch of people who wanna see you fail ‘cause you’re not your dad? A bunch of fuckin’ secrets that would hurt you? Why would you wanna go back there and have to pretend to be someone that you’re not for the rest of your life?”

Charlie pauses, opening her mouth to protest and shrugging his arm off from around her shoulders, but Cid keeps going before she can argue. 

“Why would you ever wanna go back to them when you can stay with us? Ain’t no one here’s gonna let you fail. If we do fail, we’ll all fail together. And it doesn’t matter if you can’t fight, ‘cause there’s enough of us to do that for you. And anyway, you seen Cait? Fuckin’ cat has to have some other toy doin’ his dirty work, and we still let him run around with us, don’t we?”

She shakes her head. “Please, Cid, I—”

“And I don’t think you’re nothin’,” he finishes, looking very serious. “You’re probably the smartest fuckin’ person I’ve ever met in my life. I mean . . . we built a _rocket_ , Lottie. You were twenty-two, and you built a fuckin’ _rocket._ You go back to Midgar, to be the vice president of a company that you don’t even wanna be a part of . . . that’s such a goddamn waste of your potential.”

Charlie looks at him for a long time, bewildered. She doesn’t know what to say, or if he’s even telling the truth. 

“And I don’t think you’re nothin’,” he says softly. It’s so unlike him. It reminds her of the night they had spent in the field, the night he had kissed her. The first night she had ever been kissed by someone that wasn’t related to her. “You’re someone to me.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’d like to.”

Charlie purses her lips. Is this how her life is going to always be? Running away from people who want to know her? Shutting down the moment someone asks something personal? Clamming up whenever her past is brought up?

“I don’t think you’d like me very much if you really knew me.”

“Bullshit.” Cid smiles at her, his arm lingering on the back of the bench, not quite touching her, but close enough that it would be easy to touch him and claim it was an accident. Before that thought goes any further, she fixes her gaze on the coaster that rolls noisily by their gondola. “I think I’d like you more.”

“I disagree.”

He sighs heavily. She knows that it must be frustrating, and she’s sorry, but he has no idea what secrets she’s holding onto. “Lottie . . .” he whispers, and his lips are right next to her ear, and when she turns away from the window, the tips of their noses almost brush. “I—”

Cid is interrupted by a sudden _bang!_ and a splash of color. Fireworks pop outside of the gondola, and their conversation is quickly forgotten as they both turn their attention on the fireworks. Charlie finds herself smiling, watching the sky light up blue, then green, then red, then yellow, all colors of the rainbow. 

“I haven’t seen fireworks since . . . shit, since the day of the launch,” he chuckles, hopefully back to his normal self now. 

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

He hums, leaning forward for a better view. His chest presses lightly against her, but this time, she relaxes against him.

Charlie is exhausted by the time they exit the gondola. Cid talks excitedly about the fireworks, and she listens with a small smile on her face until he exhausts even himself. 

“I hope you had fun tonight,” he tells her sweetly, grinning that crooked smile at her that she likes so much. “Did my distraction idea work?”

She smiles bigger, shyly, and nods. “A little.” 

They walk the rest of the way in silence, and when they enter the Ghost Square again, looking up the inclining path towards the hotel, Charlie reaches for his hand, her heart leaping in her throat. 

Cid doesn’t pull away, and when she laces their fingers together and squeezes slightly, he gives her a squeeze back without even teasing her about it, hardly even acknowledging it. 

The moment doesn’t last very long, however. Halfway to the hotel, someone calls her name, and both Charlie and Cid jump nearly six feet away from each other, blushing and avoiding looking at each other. 

It’s only Cait Sith, hopping towards them with a blank expression on his furry little face. It’s impossible to read him. After all, he’s a toy. Charlie wonders if he’ll be open to her many, _many_ questions later. 

“Charlie!” the cat calls, and Charlie raises her eyebrows, slightly irritated that he’s interrupted whatever moment she and Cid were sharing. “Dio wants to talk to you. He said for you to meet him in his showroom.”

“About what?” she asks.

“Dunno. Must be important.”

Cid steps up to her side, puffing his chest out. “I’ll go with you, Lottie—”

“ _Just_ Charlie,” Cait Sith replies, almost too quickly, and the big white toy he rides holds out a big fluffy hand to stop Cid from going any further. “He wants to speak to the vice president.”

“Fine.” Charlie pouts, almost stomping her foot. Leave it to Dio to ruin her good night.

But Dio isn’t in the showroom when she arrives, and when Charlie opens her mouth to call out his name, she hears the door slam shut behind her and a gloved hand clamps down over her mouth.

Charlie’s breath hitches, and another hand grips her wrist, pulling her arm to trap it in a hammer lock against her back. Her heart beats impossibly fast and, for a moment, she tries to make her peace, certain that she’s going to die. She breathes hard through her nose, shaky and fast. 

“Relax. It’s me.” But Tseng’s voice is most unwelcome in her ear, and a thrill of terror shoots through her. “I’m going to lower my hand, but if you scream, I’ll have no choice but to gag you.”

There’s a second’s hesitation, and then he lowers his hand from her mouth. She screams. 

Tseng cuts her off by clapping a hand to her mouth again. She tries to lick at his glove, but the leather tastes salty and like dirt. “What did I literally _just_ say?” he growls. “Don’t scream, Charlotte.”

Slowly, he lowers his hand again. 

The moment she’s able to speak once more, she does. “Let me go,” she hisses. “Let me go _now_. I’m _not_ going back to Midgar, and I’m not going _anywhere_ with you.”

“Calm down,” he whispers in her ear, gently forcing her towards the back of the showroom, where that partially hidden, framed-by-weapons door leads to an employee passageway. “I’m not bringing you back to Midgar.”

Her heart stutters. She’s done for. She’s trapped and there’s no escape. 

He’s going to kill her and bury her body somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He’s going to put a bullet in the back of her head and cut her up into little pieces. Oh Gods, she didn’t _really_ mean what she said to Cid, she’s not ready to die, not like this, not now—

“Walk faster, Charlotte. It’s not as if you’re walking to your own execution.” 

They’re walking down a gray staircase, the walls very narrow, the lightbulbs swinging overhead. The walls are bare, slightly foreboding. Charlie stops abruptly and Tseng walks right into her, stepping on the back of her feet and nearly knocking her down the stairs. 

“Goddamnit, Charlotte—”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“ _Kill_ you?” Tseng asks, sounding incredulous in her ear. “Is that what you think is going on?”

His grip on her arm slackens, and Charlie’s able to slip away, whirling around to face him, wide-eyed. “Well, if you’re not bringing me back to Midgar, then what are you doing with me?”

The expression that crosses his face is one of complete doubt. He looks very much as if he’s going to regret his answer.

“You’re coming with Elena and me to the Temple of the Ancients.”

Charlotte doesn’t move. She stands her ground, lifting her chin. She could run, but she wouldn’t make it back upstairs, and it’s possible that she’d end up falling and cracking her head. She chooses not to tell him about the Keystone. 

“I heard something funny from Vincent Valentine,” she says softly, watching one of Tseng’s eyebrows quirk upwards. “Veld’s old partner.”

“Did you?” he asks, one hand on his hip, sounding bored. She’s sure he’s feigning. He loved Veld. He wants to know what information she has. 

“Veld found him sleeping in the basement of the Shinra Manor in Nibelheim,” she continues, “only a few months ago. Looking for a rare materia, I think he said.”

“Did he now?” That same bored tone.

“Official reports state that Veld was killed years ago—”

“Most official reports are full of misinformation, Charlotte, and you know that—”

“Is Veld dead?” she asks, ready for her answer, ready for the closure. She’s tired of being jerked around, of wondering, of being consumed by the very possibility that he might be alive somewhere. “Please, Tseng, just put an end to it. I’m tired. Tell me the truth.”

Tseng hesitates, stepping slowly closer to her. He bends forward to lower himself, to put his face right in front of her own, and when he speaks, it’s without hardly moving his lips, his voice very soft, teeth clenched. Charlie doesn’t blink, staring into his eyes as if hoping to find the answers there. 

“It is very possible,” he whispers, putting his hands behind his back, “that the initial report I filed with the company, in regards to Veld’s death, was falsified.” He narrows his eyes at her, his voice getting even lower. “And I think that you give me far less credit than I am due.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Tseng answers slowly and through his gritted teeth. Leaning back and clearing his throat, he gestures with an open arm for her to continue. “Now that you know I won’t kill you, will you come with me?”

“I don’t want to.”

He smiles wryly. “You don’t have a choice.”

* * *

He can’t sleep. 

Granted, it’s only been about fifteen minutes since he entered his room, but there’s no possible way that he’ll be able to sleep tonight, especially when his brain won’t shut the fuck up.

_Him,_ Cid fucking Highwind, going on a relatively successful date with Charlotte fucking Shinra, vice president of Shinra Electric Power Company. He doesn’t know if _she_ would consider it a date, but she held his hand for a few seconds, so that speaks for itself, he thinks. 

If that damn cat hadn’t interrupted them, he might even have tried to kiss her.

Or maybe not. He’s not as bold as he once was, and Lottie just ended her engagement recently. He’s gotta be a gentleman, and he doesn’t want to piss her off. 

When was the last time he even went on a date? He doesn’t know. He has no fucking idea. It’s not like the dating pool in Rocket Town is a wide selection catered to all tastes and preferences.

But he can’t stand being alone in this room anymore. Maybe he could meet her at the Battle Square, and maybe he could fight a few rounds to impress Charlie. He could even break in the new halberd he’d bought in Wutai, just to get a feel for it in case they encounter monsters at the Temple of the Ancients. 

Fucking place is probably overrun with them, an old ruin like that.

Yeah, he’ll get a little training in. 

Cid shoulders his weapon and heads back out of the hotel, thinking to himself and looking down at his feet to make sure he doesn’t miss a step in the darkness. 

Tonight had been the most fun he’s had in ages. All the colors and flashing lights and arcade games made him feel just like a little kid again, and Lottie had been content to watch him enjoy himself, casting shy smiles at him all evening and giggling behind her fingers when he would catch her looking. 

Cid couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in the gondola. 

To think, only a short while ago, that goddamned Turk was beating him just for looking at a dirty fucking magazine and calling her a few times. And Cid had been completely willing to just let her go if it meant sparing him more pain, because she wasn’t worth the hell that son of a bitch put him through, as much as it pains him to admit it. 

He’s sure that Charlie is keeping some damning secrets, and he isn’t entirely sure he wants to know what they are, but he had meant everything he said. It had been heartbreaking to see the vice president of Shinra Incorporated so vulnerable, a side of her that he hadn’t really believed possible. 

To see her so insecure, so ashamed of her last name, of being associated with the rest of her family . . . it makes Cid feel bad for ever insulting her for the sole crime of being born to the late President Shinra’s wife. 

When Cid reaches the lobby, it’s to find a very peculiar scene. Cloud and Aerith are shouting something, pointing across the lobby to Cait Sith, who holds something pale blue in his white hand—or is it pale green? Fuck if he knows. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Cid grunts.

Aerith grabs Cloud by the wrist and pulls him towards Cait Sith. “He has the Keystone!”

“ _What!_ ” 

Cid follows the kids and the cat through what feels like the entire goddamn amusement park, still a little unclear of the situation, but he gets a wakeup call pretty fucking quick, when he, Cloud, and Aerith chase Cait Sith out of the ticket office of the Chocobo Square.

There’s a Shinra helicopter hovering above the grand staircase when they exit the ticket box again, so far behind Cait Sith now that there’s no stopping him. But Cid doesn’t care about the Keystone right now, nor does he protest alongside Cloud and Aerith as Cait Sith throws that Keystone up to the slick-haired bastard that broke his goddamn jaw. 

All he cares about is the girl beside that sleazy scumbag, whose pale eyes widen at the sight of her friends. 

“Cid!” she screams, and the Turk wraps his free hand around her upper arm, the hand not holding the Keystone. “Help me!”

“Hang on, Lottie!” Cid calls, holding out a hand for her as if hoping to catch her, but he’ll never reach her in time. “I’m comin’, honey!”

“ _Charlie!_ ” Aerith screams, running after Cid and the helicopter, which quickly flies away with their friend and the Keystone. Frantic, completely ignoring Cait, she turns to Cloud with desperation in her eyes. “Cloud, we have to go after her!”

“Hey!” Cloud shouts at Cait Sith, and Cid grips his spear tight, ready to skewer the fucking toy cat where he stands, sitting pretty upon that ugly fucking creature he rides around. 

Cid finds his voice when the rage begins to settle in. Everything had just happened so quickly, but now Lottie is gone, and it’s all Cait Sith’s fault. “What the _fuck_ did you do?” he snaps, stepping closer to the cat. 

Cait Sith’s little hands jump into the air in surrender. “Okay, okay, listen! I won’t run, I promise!”

Holding up the point of his weapon to the cat’s chest, Cid clenches his jaw. “You just fucking killed her!”

Cait Sith looks at all of them, quiet for a minute. “I was a spy,” he says, and Cloud’s face hardens, arms folding over his chest. “I was hired by Shinra—”

“I trusted you!” Aerith frowns. Cid’s never seen her look so mad before, except for maybe that time when she was standing up for Charlie. He’s almost proud that she’s just as angry as they are. “We all trusted you! I can’t believe you!”

“What about Charlie?” Cloud asks. “Did she have anything to do with this? Did she know about you?”

“No! Charlie had nothin’ to do with this!” Cait Sith insists, and Cid believes him. He only saw Charlie’s face for a few seconds, but he hadn’t missed the fear and terror in her eyes. “She didn’t know I was a spy, so just leave her outta this! So how ‘bout we just continue on like nothing ever happened?”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Cid hisses, prodding the cat’s chest with his weapon. Cloud holds a hand out to stop him from going any further, but Cid feels like he could wring the bastard’s neck. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done to her? They’re gonna _kill_ her, you fuckin’ rat bastard! You’ve just sent her to her fuckin’ death! And you wanna carry on like nothin’ ever happened?”

“Cid’s right,” Cloud scoffs, and Cait Sith seems to shrink before him. “You just gave up one of our friends _and_ the Keystone, and you think we’re just gonna forget that?”

“Well, what’re you gonna do, then?” Cait Sith asks, almost mockingly. He doesn’t even flinch at the blade that’s pressed against his chest. “You gonna kill me? This body’s a toy. It won’t matter. My real body’s back in Midgar, in Shinra Headquarters.”

“Fuckin’ Shinra spy,” Cid grumbles, looking sideways at Cloud, hoping for a sign that it’s all right to gut the fucking puppet. “Should’a known you were no fuckin’ good from the start.”

“Who are you?” Aerith asks, still sounding mad, but her voice is a little sweeter than Cloud’s or his own. “Tell me!”

“I’m not gonna tell you my name!” Cait Sith counters, lowering his arms from over his head. “What, are you crazy? Look, talking isn’t gonna do us any good, so let’s just continue on with our journey, all right?”

“I just told you, we’re not going to just forget about what you did—”

“All right, all right, fine,” Cait Sith sighs. “Yes, I work for Shinra, but you and I— _us_ —we’re not exactly enemies.” He hangs his head low, and Cid lowers his weapon, breathing very heavily. He’ll wait to hear what the cat says before driving his blade through the traitor’s toy heart. “Something bothers me . . . maybe it’s your way of life. You don’t get paid, or praised, for what you do, but you do it anyway. It just makes me . . .”

Cid taps his foot impatiently. He doesn’t have all night. They’ve gotta figure out when the goddamn tram is going to be ready so they can rescue Charlie.

“It just makes me think about my life,” the cat continues, talking far too much for Cid’s liking. “And if things ended the way they are now . . . I don’t think I’d feel too good.”

“We don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout your sad little life, cat,” Cid spits at him. “What’re they gonna do with Charlie?”

“I dunno,” is Cait’s answer. “I think she’ll be okay.”

“You know her? Personally?” Cloud asks again.

“No—no!” Cait Sith sighs very heavily, shaking his head. “All right . . . I didn’t wanna resort to this . . . Why don’t you have a listen to this?” 

The cat seems to jerk around for a second, his jaw opening as wide as it can go, and a little girl’s voice issues from within Cait Sith. “ _Papa! Tifa!_ ”

“Is that Marlene?” Aerith gasps, looking horrified. 

Cid shares that horror. He isn’t quite sure who Marlene is, but she sounds like she’s only a kid. “Who was that?” 

“ _Hey! It’s the flower lady!_ ”

Cait Sith’s mouth closes again, he jerks awkwardly, and then seems back to his normal self. It sends a shiver down Cid’s spine. “So now you have to do what I say,” he says plainly. 

Cloud looks mutinous. “You’re the lowest . . .”

“This is how it is.” Cait Sith looks at them each in turn. “Let’s just continue on as we have been, okay?” Before leaving them, he adds, “And I know where the Temple of the Ancients is, so I’ll show you tomorrow. If we get there quick enough, we might be able to get Charlie back.”

“Get Charlie back?” Cid’s head is pounding. He’s too old for this shit. “You’re the one who let that Turk take her! You’re the one that said Dio wanted to talk to her! How can you be sure they’re takin’ her to the Temple of the Ancients anyway?”

“‘Cause he’s got the Keystone, and he’s gotta get there before us, doesn’t he?”

“You sure know a whole hell of a lot, you fuckin’ spy.”

“Regardless, we’ll find out tomorrow if Charlie’s at the temple or not,” Cloud says, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. But then, he looks up directly into Cait Sith’s face. “Don’t worry, Cid. If she’s there, we’re taking her back.”

* * *

Reeve deactivates Cait Sith completely for the night. 

It’s too much. Cid Highwind wanted to kill him, and had no qualms with telling him so several times. Cloud hadn’t said anything, but Reeve knows that Cloud would kill him, too, if possible. 

Everyone would probably jump at the chance to kill him. Probably even Charlie, who has no idea that it’s him behind Cait Sith. 

He doesn’t care. He might even welcome death at this point. It might finally relieve him of all his burdens, of all his insecurities, of the weight of the world on his shoulders. It would be what he deserves. After all, he may well have just sent Charlotte to her death, and how could he do that? He loves her, he’s always loved her, and he’s betrayed her and the people she loves.

And now they’ll see him as nothing but a spy, a liar, a traitor, a man that holds little girls hostages. It hadn’t been so hard to piece together little samples of audio he’d picked up from the bugged house in Kalm, and it’s easy to manipulate little children to say exactly what needs to be said. 

He wants to tell them all, especially Barret, that he would never hurt Marlene. She and Elmyra both. They’ve been so good to him lately, the only people who want to see him, who want to talk to him, always welcoming and warm and offering him a seat at their kitchen table. 

His apartment is so dark and empty. Even though he’s been here for weeks now, he hasn’t even moved in completely. More than half of his things are still in boxes. He feels like fully moving in would mean completely ending whatever relationship he still has with Charlie . . . _if_ there’s still any relationship. 

After what he’s done tonight, he isn’t sure Charlie would be interested in pursuing anything with him ever again. 

His office is dark, doubly so with the computer screen turned off. He holds his head in his hands. 

He’s quite possibly just killed Charlotte.


	48. Chapter 48

“What can I do for you, mister?”

The dark-skinned, teenaged girl behind the counter snaps her gum. It sticks to her bottom lip, and her tongue swipes across it several times. Her eyes sweep up and down Tseng, eyebrows raised. He hardly seems to notice, pulling his wallet out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and flipping it open. 

“Hey . . .” The girl’s eyes fix on Charlie next. “Aren’t you—”

“A room for my wife and I,” Tseng interrupts her quickly, handing over a thick stack of bound bills. “Our friend will be here shortly. Give her the key to another room when she arrives.”

The girl gives them both another long look, narrowing her wide-set eyes at Charlie before dropping a room key into Tseng’s upturned palm. 

As they make their way up the stairs, Charlie giggles from behind him. If this is how it’s going to be, she’s not going to make it easy for him, and she’s not done with her show of defiance.

“Going to give me a good snuggle tonight, Tseng?” She sighs dreamily, clasping her hands together. When this fails to get a reaction from him, Charlie wraps her hands around his arm. “I never imagined we’d be taking our honeymoon in Gongaga, my love. It’s _so_ romantic . . . I can’t _wait_ for you to completely _ravish_ me tonight.”

Tseng chokes, looking down to scowl at her. “Be serious, Charlotte.”

Charlie groans. “You sound like my father.”

He gives her a small shrug.

“Oh, come on. Since when do you hate my jokes?” She releases him, rolling her eyes. “Besides, it’d be the best you ever got.”

“Enough. You’re not sleeping in my room tonight. You’re going to share with Elena.”

“What?” Charlie scoffs loudly, dropping the act. She’s glad Elena isn’t here to see her reaction. Tseng had sent her off to investigate someone’s home the moment they set foot in Gongaga. “I’m not sharing a room with Elena.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s annoying.” Tseng shoves the key into the lock moodily, pushing the door open. She follows him inside. “What? Too much of a coward to sleep in the same bed as me?”

“Don’t call me a coward,” is his answer, spoken very flatly. He dumps his bag onto the bed, wide enough for three people to sleep comfortably. 

“Veld let me sleep in bed with him,” she reminds him.

“Twenty years ago, maybe,” he retorts. “You’re almost thirty now. Do you still need to be coddled?”

“I’m only twenty-seven,” she pouts, sticking out her bottom lip at him. It makes him smile. “And _you’re_ the one that does all the coddling in the first place.”

“Old habits die hard.”

The room is small and very cramped with such a large bed, with a window overlooking the reactor ruins in the distance. By day, it might not seem so ominous, but in the pale moonlight, it’s a shadow coming to haunt them all. There’s a bathroom, hardly big enough for two people to stand in, and one lamp that casts the room in yellow light. 

Charlie drops her bag onto the end of the bed, as well. She’s lucky Tseng had at least thought about her wellbeing enough to bring a bag full of her clothing along, as well as a hairbrush (Gods, it’s been a while), a toothbrush (that was one of her first purchases in Wutai), as well as other toiletries that look brand new. The thought of him digging around in a drawer full of her lingerie is slightly amusing, however. 

Of course, nothing matches, but she supposes there’s no one she really needs to impress at the Temple of the Ancients. 

When she looks up, Tseng’s back is to her, and he’s looking out the wide window. “Zack was from Gongaga,” he notes quietly, “did you know that?”

Charlie pauses, shrugging her shoulders. “No, I didn’t.”

Tseng turns back around, avoiding her eyes and opening his bag. “Tomorrow morning, we’re leaving for the Temple of the Ancients,” he tells her, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out the Keystone, turning it this way and that to properly admire it. “I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with you afterwards.”

That _definitely_ makes it sound like he’s going to kill her. “You could let me go back to the people I was with before.”

“You don’t belong with them, Charlotte,” he muses, putting the Keystone in his bag and pulling out a handgun. She recognizes it almost immediately. It’s the gun she had before Tseng had taken her from Gongaga, the gun that Rufus had given her all those years ago. “I have some business to take care of. I’m leaving this with you—not that I think you’ll encounter any trouble. There’s no point in trying to run away now. You won’t get far at night through the jungle, all alone.”

“Can I use your phone while you’re gone?”

“No. I’m bringing it with me.”

“Not even to call Reeve?”

Tseng gives her a very curious look, then. His eyebrows furrow together, and he looks as if he’s on the verge of asking her something before shaking his head and looking away. “No.”

“So I’m your hostage.”

“It would appear so.” He adjusts the gloves on his hands, pulling them further down his wrists. The leather creaks and whines as it’s stretched. “But I prefer to think of us as friends, don’t you?”

Charlie scrunches her nose. “No, I don’t. You’re a liar.”

“Would you like to be the pot or the kettle tonight?”

“The kettle, definitely.”

Tseng’s mouth twitches as he lifts his eyes to look into her face again. “Very well.” He crosses the room in four long strides, opening the door. “You can stay here tonight, but word of this will not reach your brother’s ears, understood?”

Charlie falters. She hadn’t thought about that. Blushing, she quickly throws her bag around her shoulders and gets to her feet, not wanting to cause anyone more trouble than necessary. “Sorry, I’ll share with Elena. I just—”

Tseng cocks an eyebrow when she stops abruptly. “You just what?”

“Come on,” she says, giving him an exasperated look. “I’ve known you for like, thirteen years or something like that. If I have to share a room with someone . . . can’t I just sleep on the floor or something?”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor,” he replies, gesturing with his chin towards the gun on the bed and putting on the most serious face he can muster. “ _Don’t_ use it.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, flopping back onto the bed and sighing. 

* * *

For being his hostage, Charlie thinks he’s far too lenient. Maybe he’s getting soft. It happened to Veld, the older he got. Now that she thinks about it, it happened to Reno and Rude, as well.

The bathroom door is cracked, letting all the steam filter out, and she can hear the slapping of water on the shower tiles. She could walk into the bathroom right now and shoot him, if she wanted to. But she doesn’t really think she wants to at all, and besides, she wouldn’t put it past Tseng to be expecting that from her. She's sure he’d still find some way to restrain her, even caught off guard and naked.

She examines the glowing materia in her hand, the materia that will allow them to enter the Temple of the Ancients. Unfortunately, she hasn’t had much luck with any of the materia that Cloud let her try, so she hopes that Tseng knows how to use it. 

It’s almost unthinkable that, tomorrow morning, she’ll be heading an exploration of the place that has eluded her father his entire adult life. Tseng had told her honestly that he wasn’t certain if the Temple of the Ancients was the Promised Land that Sephiroth and President Shinra were both seeking, but surely the place will have answers. 

Charlie can’t deny that it’s exciting. _Her_ , Charlotte Eleanor Shinra, the vice president of Shinra Electric Power Company, the neglected and forsaken daughter of the late President Shinra— _she’s_ going to discover the Promised Land, a land of supreme happiness with an infinite supply of mako to bring prosperity to the rest of the planet.

Is that what she wants? Wouldn’t using the abundant supply of mako energy make her just the same as her father and brother? That’s not what Avalanche had been fighting for. They trusted her enough with their plans, with their vague secrets. She can’t betray them now, not after Cait Sith . . .

When Tseng eventually comes out of the bathroom, he walks right over to her and plucks the Keystone out of her hands, placing it back in the safety of his bag. 

For a moment, seeing him pace around the room and ready himself for bed, Charlie’s heart aches something painful. It reminds her of days spent together in the villa or at her home in Midgar, reminds her of when they had been their own little family. 

She had once relished the idea of sharing something with Tseng like she had with Veld, something private and intimate, something no one else had with them. Perhaps they had shared something, after all. Perhaps they had shared their lives for years, learning each other’s routines and quirks. 

It’s more than her father can say.

“You haven’t asked me any questions,” he says distractedly, looking at her reflection in the mirror as he runs a thick-toothed comb his hair. “I’m surprised at you.”

Propped up against the headboard, having taken all the pillows but one, she crosses her arms. “I didn’t think you’d give me any answers, even if I asked,” she counters. “And if you did, you’d just be lying anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“How long have you been in contact with Cait Sith?”

“Longer than you might think.”

“See? That’s not an answer!” Charlie huffs. Just when he seems all right, he frustrates her again. “Who is he? Who is he really?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“Does my brother know that you’re taking me to the Temple of the Ancients?”

“Certainly not,” he answers with a snort. “The president has been very withdrawn since you left him behind in Rocket Town.”

Charlie pauses, pulling her knees to her chest. “Is he all right?”

“He’s heartbroken.” It’s a statement, but it’s certainly not an accusation. “Besides that, he’s perfectly well and in perfect physical health.”

“Are you going to take me back to Midgar afterwards?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Worried about me?”

“Your brother was content to leave you in a cell for days when Reno brought you home from Gongaga,” Tseng replies carefully, as if expecting Rufus to be listening in on them. It’s out of his character to go against, or even speak against, her brother. That’s how she knows it’s serious. “I will admit to a degree of concern about what he might do to keep you from leaving again, and I think Reno shares those concerns . . . which would explain why he let you walk away from Wutai.”

It worries her. Tseng’s fear has a deep effect on her, and she’s afraid that he’s right, afraid of what her brother might do to keep her in Midgar, to keep her from leaving. Would he hurt her? Would he kill her?

She rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs, getting comfortable on the edge of the bed, putting her back to the other side of it and wanting to put as much space between them as possible. Maybe she _will_ sleep on the floor, if only out of pure spite. “I’m going to sleep.” 

Tseng turns the light off, but she can hear him still walking around the room for a little, messing around in his bag, folding clothes by the light of the moon. She hears the unmistakable sound of him putting his gun on the nightstand, and then the sounds of Elena tossing and turning in her creaky bed on the other side of the shared wall. 

“How did you find Wutai?” he says quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“It wasn’t a vacation,” she hisses, feeling him slip underneath the blankets. Charlie closes her eyes and almost starts crying. She had never been more scared than she felt with Don Corneo pressing a gun to her head, threatening to kill her in front of people she cared about. “Why weren’t you there with them? I was confident that you would come for me. I was certain you would be my escape.”

“I was busy tracking Sephiroth.”

“Well, you’re lucky that _someone_ came for me, at least.”

“Yes, I did hear about the condition Don Corneo was in when he was brought to Headquarters.” Tseng hesitates, very quiet. “Half-dead and brutalized, and currently in a medically induced coma that Shinra’s doctors have put him in. There were very traumatic brain injuries noted upon his initial examination. Reno has no self-control. You know him—he’ll never pass up the opportunity to put on a show.”

“You used to be the same way,” she mutters, burying her face into her pillow. “Perhaps you still are. I don’t recall ever asking you to go to Rocket Town in order to brutalize someone there that I care about.”

“That was different,” he replies quickly, sounding not at all ashamed of himself. “I would not have been doing my job if I hadn’t made sure you were not hiding in Rocket Town—”

“You knew damn well that I wasn’t in Rocket Town—”

“And I was one-hundred-percent certain when I left Rocket Town. It’s my job to make sure every possibility is considered.”

“So you broke his jaw over a dirty magazine?” Charlie scoffs, rolling over to look at him. He’s lying on his back, one hand underneath his head, his eyes closed. “You had _no_ right to do that. If I didn’t want people looking at me, I wouldn’t have done the photo shoot in the first place.”

Tseng opens his eyes, turning his head to face her. “Just because you think he’s charming doesn’t mean anything. He’s disrespectful—towards Shinra Incorporated and towards _you_ , the very two things whose reputations I have sworn to uphold.”

Charlie grits her teeth and tries to get comfortable again. She’s certain that Elena can likely hear their entire argument very clearly from the other side of the wall. Every little groan or creak or cough is clearly audible to Charlie. 

“If anyone is disrespectful towards me, it’s _you_ ,” she snaps. “You’ve always treated me differently than Rufus. You’ve always seen me as beneath him. Beneath _you_.”

“You don’t believe that.”

All right, no, maybe she doesn’t really believe that. Tseng has always done as she’s asked, has always protected her, has always seen to her needs and wants, even if he does it with a condescending air sometimes. She tries to think of when that relationship had crossed from casual and professional to friendly and intimate. 

She supposes it was a few nights he had returned from Modeoheim, bringing the news with him that Angeal would not be coming back. Charlie had been in bed when she heard the knock on the front door, and somehow she had known exactly who was at her door and why he was there so late at night.

Charlie was crying already when she had opened the door for Tseng. There had been something very sad about him that night. “Let’s talk, Charlotte,” he had said, and it was the first time he had called her anything other than ‘Miss Shinra’. 

“Why did you lie to me about Veld?” she whispers, hoping this conversation goes unheard, but she isn’t sure if they’ll get another chance like this to talk. 

“No. We’re not talking about this.”

She could scream. She wants to scream as loud as she can, for as long as she can. She has to fight the urge to reach out and throttle him, to thread fingers through his dark hair and give his head a sharp tug, just to show him how frustrated she is, just to show him who’s _really_ in charge, just to remind him of who she is. 

_That’s what Rufus would do. I’m not Rufus._

Lying has only made things worse for her lately. Internalizing things had ruined her relationship with Reeve. If she’s going to start being honest, she may as well start with someone she trusts with her life. 

Even before she speaks, Charlie feels the heat rise to her cheeks. “You made me feel like I was nothing,” she tells him, and she can’t deny that saying it outloud feels _good._ “I thought we were family—you, me, and Veld. And when Veld left, I thought . . .”

He’s quiet for a long time, clearly uncomfortable, so still that Charlie fears he’s fallen asleep while she was talking. “You thought what?”

“I don’t know,” she confesses, sighing. “I don’t even know what a real family is. Veld used to tell me . . .” Charlie glances at him. She can hardly see him, only able to see his shadow. “He used to tell me that family is who you surround yourself with, and who looks out for you when no one else does.”

“That sounds like something he would say.”

They lapse back into silence. Charlie looks up at the ceiling, completely cast in shadow. “I miss him,” she breathes, trying to swallow the lump forming in her throat. “I miss him so much.”

She wants to say more— _so_ much more. She wants to tell Tseng how she really feels, and how Veld had been the first man to break her heart, and how she loves them both despite everything, despite what they’ve done, despite how much they’ve hurt her. 

It’s hard for her. She doesn’t know why. Maybe it comes after years of holding everything in to keep her father from lashing out. Maybe it’s because she’s a coward. Maybe she’s afraid of being rejected, of hearing that Tseng has never loved her, that Veld never loved her, that it had all been for show, to keep her happy. 

Rolling over onto her side, Charlie puts her back to him again. It doesn’t really matter—it’s not like he’ll be able to see her crying in the darkness anyway. 

“I’m not good at this, and I never have been. You know that better than anyone, Charlotte,” he says after she’s been quiet for too long. “If you want comfort, I doubt you’ll find any with me.”

“You’re an idiot,” she sighs, closing her eyes and pulling the blanket up to her chin. “You don’t know anything about women, do you?”

Tseng shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She expects an excuse, an apology for not being suited to properly handling damaged, insecure, petty women who are desperate for comfort after feeling like the world is taking away all the people she loves, one by one. She expects some half-assed apology about kidnapping her, about taking her away from the people who took care of her, who watched her back for her. 

“I’m sorry for how I treated you when you were being held in Midgar,” he explains. “Your plan to seek me out . . . I’m very flattered that you think you might find safety with me, and your assumption that you would be safe with me is _entirely_ correct, however . . .” 

She can almost _feel_ him blushing. Surely he’s uncomfortable, and she shouldn’t press him, but she wants to hear. Tseng has never been someone who has willingly opened up, never someone who has willingly shown weakness or vulnerability (they’re the same thing to him). Even when offering her comfort in regards to Angeal, Tseng had hardly spoken, instead allowing her to cry into his chest for as long as she considered necessary.

“Your brother will kill the both of us if he suspects something.”

“I know,” she says, and she covers her face with a hand as tears spring to her eyes. “It’s why I left Reeve. I was afraid that Rufus would hurt him.”

“If it’s any consolation, the director is safe, and I don’t think your brother means him harm.”

Relief washes over her, the knowledge that leaving him hadn’t been for nothing. It was wrong of her to involve Reeve in her family affairs from the start. It was wrong to let herself get so attached, and it was wrong to let _him_ get so attached to her. It never would have ended well. It would always have ended in tears, in someone being hurt, in heartache. 

Charlie thinks she knows now what Tseng was trying to say.

_It’s better this way._

“Wutai was so lovely,” she cries, humiliated and exhausted. “It was just like you said.” 

“I’ll take you back when this is all over.”

“It will never be over,” she sniffles, wiping her tears on her pillow, “not while Rufus lives.”

“Charlotte . . .” He groans, like this is the last thing he wants to ask in the world. “What happened the last night you were in your cell? What happened after I turned the cameras off?”

“Nothing,” she whispers, and she knows Tseng likely doesn’t believe her. 

_Something_ had happened, though not what Tseng thinks, and it would be too difficult to explain to him the pain of lying there, forced to relive memories long forgotten, forced to come to the realization that her brother will stop at nothing to have her. 

“Nothing happened,” she says one more time, just to make that very clear. She’s a proficient liar, but he has always been able to tell. “Good-night.”

There’s a long silence that’s uncharacteristically uncomfortable. She knows what he’s thinking. It’s what everyone thinks, everyone who knows her and Rufus. 

“Good-night,” he tells her, sighing heavily. 

* * *

She wakes to the sound of his phone ringing. It’s still dark outside.

He hardly responds. Charlie has to reach out blindly to find his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. 

“Are you going to answer that?” she moans softly. 

Tseng stirs, slipping his arm out from underneath Charlie’s pillow and cursing under his breath. It takes him a few seconds to answer, and she tries to hear whose voice comes from the other line, but it’s impossible to hear. Reeve was always like that on the phone, always talking quietly, as if afraid someone was listening. 

He hums a few times, and her eyes flutter open when he finally says, “She’s here . . . _yes_ , she’s all right . . . she’s still sleeping . . .”

“Who is it?” she asks quickly and quietly, propping herself onto an elbow. 

Tseng glances over his shoulder at her, the light from his phone blinding, making his skin appear ghostly white. He hesitates, listening to the other person again, and then holds out the phone for her. 

Charlie frowns. “Who is it?” she asks again. 

“Tell the director you’re all right, before he convinces himself that I’ve killed you.”

She snatches the phone from his hand so quickly that it nearly falls from her fingers. Her heart stutters, and she looks down at the screen to read the name TUESTI across it. She holds it up to her ear.

“Reeve?”

“ _Charlie_ ,” he says, a soft little sigh as if he hadn’t believed she was there at all. “ _Are you all right?_ ”

His voice makes her cry without warning, without her permission. She hasn’t heard his voice in what feels like a long time. It’s still so comforting, her favorite voice in the world. “I’m okay. What about you? Are you safe?”

“ _Of course I am,_ ” is his reply, so casual and so calm that it knocks the wind out of her. She thought he might hate her, might never want to talk to her again. “ _I’m so glad you’re all right._ ”

Charlie lifts her eyes to meet Tseng’s gaze. He doesn’t seem in a terrible rush to get her off the phone. He examines his fingernails, turning away from her. 

“Reeve, I am _so_ sorry for getting you involved in all of this—”

“ _Involved in what?_ ”

“In everything,” she continues, wanting to say everything, but knowing she doesn’t have the time. “With me, with Rufus, with my father and his company—”

“ _None of that is your fault,_ ” he reassures her. Ever the gentleman, even after she had left him without an explanation. “ _Charlotte, why did you leave?_ ”

She doesn’t answer right away, but she knows she needs to tell him. He needs to know the truth. “I was afraid,” she admits softly. “I was afraid of Rufus, of him hurting you . . .” Charlie glances at Tseng again, blushing. “I was afraid of all the secrets we were keeping from each other.”

“ _Then come home, and we’ll talk about it. Don’t worry about me._ ” The offer is so tempting—the offer to return to her old lifestyle, to fall asleep beside him at night and wake in his arms, to kiss him again, to love him. 

“Reeve, I—” Her cheeks feel hot. “I can’t—”

“ _Whatever it is, Charlie, it’s all right._ ” 

“You were right about him,” she sighs, holding her head in her free hand. “You were right about Rufus the whole time, but I . . .”

“ _It’s all right. Whatever happened, we’ll get through it, but you need to come home. I want to see you again._ ”

Charlie knows that she will not return to Midgar. Tseng will have to drag her corpse back if that’s the way it has to be. She will not go back to Rufus. Not again. 

Her heartbroken little brother . . . alone . . . the image of him crying against her floats to the forefront of her mind. 

_No,_ she tells herself, _I can’t go back. That’s what he wants. If I go back, he wins._

“Enough,” Tseng whispers, holding his hand out. 

“I have to go,” she tells Reeve, wiping away the tears that leak down her cheeks. They’re hot against her skin, and she wishes she hadn’t said anything to Reeve in the first place. It hurts too much. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Charlie . . ._ ”

They’re both quiet for what feels like forever. She wants to tell him that she loves him, and nothing has changed that. Before she does or says anything foolish, however, she gives the phone back to Tseng and lies back down against her pillows, chewing on her lower lip as she listens to the rest of their conversation, which is mostly Tseng humming and agreeing quietly. 

When he hangs up, he runs a hand through his hair. “We have a long day ahead of us,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t get out of bed yet himself. Tseng lies on his back, but Charlie knows she isn’t going to be able to fall asleep again. 

“I’m not going back to Midgar,” she says hoarsely. “And if you try to bring me back, I will kill myself.” It’s the complete truth. A quick and clean end to things would be infinitely better than whatever her brother may have in store for her. 

Tseng hardly seems surprised, nor does he seem worried. He only puts his arm behind his head again, sighing as he shifts on the bed. “I suppose I won’t be bringing you back to Midgar, then.”

Part of her feels as if she’s living on borrowed time. Either she will die fighting Sephiroth with Avalanche, or she will die in Midgar, where Charlie imagines her brother holding a pillow over her face in the middle of the night, hiding her away in some hidden room in the Shinra Building, or having one of his Turks do away with her. 

If death is her future, the least she can do is make the walk with her head held high. 

She isn’t going to shy away from the surest form of escape she has left to her. 


	49. Chapter 49

Tseng sets a brutal pace, clearing the jungle path ahead of Charlie and Elena, all while wearing a suit. 

It takes her all her strength to keep up, not wanting to fall behind and make herself look incapable. While she walks side-by-side with Elena, neither of them speak, too busy panting and focusing on the ground to think straight. The path is treacherous, and full of sinkholes, quicksand, and monsters that are easily put down with a few careful swipes of his axe, but the further into the jungle they get, the less monsters appear.

The Temple of the Ancients turns out to be a thousands-year-old step-pyramid that looms over the jungles of the island it rests upon like the Shinra Building over Midgar. And the closer they get, the more Charlie begins to think they shouldn’t be here. 

Sometimes she thinks the jungle has a mind of its own. Several times she gets stuck on roots she swears weren’t there before, and some puddles seem far deeper than they look. Branches feel like fingers on her shoulders and it feels like eyes are everywhere through the trees, like someone is watching their progress. 

Sometimes Charlie thinks she feels a cool breeze touch upon her face, but the leaves around her never move, and it sounds like someone is whispering in her ear before the relief fades and she’s left to suffocate in the humid heat again. 

None of them know if Sephiroth is here, though Tseng had been convinced that the world would know if Sephiroth already managed to get his hands on the Black Materia, and besides, _they_ have the Keystone. Charlie has to agree with that logic, but it still makes her nervous, even more so as the trees begin to thin. That’s when she begins to _feel_ the change in the air, sending chills down her spine.

“Listen,” Tseng says at one point, holding up a hand to stop both her and Elena. 

Charlie listens hard, but there’s nothing to hear but her thumping heart. “It’s too quiet,” she whispers, and Tseng nods. 

There are no chirping birds or rustling leaves or buzzing insects. The only sounds are made by their own movement and voices, their heavy breathing. 

Elena and Charlie exchange a sideways look, and follow after him as he begins cutting through the brush again. Charlie’s arms are cut up and bleeding from getting caught on thorns and brambles, and her face is sunburnt, but she can’t complain because she had snapped at Tseng when he chided her to put some on back at the helicopter. 

He had even made her take her diamond earrings out, the ones that Reeve had bought for her a few years ago. Charlie did as she was bid, because it _was_ very likely they would get caught on something during their excursion, but she made sure it was known she wasn’t happy about it. 

“You don’t think we’re walking into a trap, do you?” Elena asks as they get ever closer. 

Charlie lifts her eyes to look at the back of Tseng’s head expectantly. 

“I won’t say I haven’t already considered it,” he answers, cutting through a thicket of branches. “Be alert. I don’t know what we’ll find inside.”

“Even if Sephiroth _is_ in there, I don’t think bullets will do much,” Charlie says to his back. “I watched him phase right through a solid floor, you know.”

“What?” Elena gasps. “He can do that?”

“I mean, how can we even be _sure_ that it’s really Sephiroth in the first place?” Charlie continues, trying to remember all she can about the night he had killed her father. “The Sephiroth that I knew was far more human than whatever murdered my father. He was supposed to be dead, and all of a sudden, he comes back and can phase through floors and travel unnaturally quickly across the planet?”

Tseng stops abruptly, lowering the axe in his hand and turning around to look at Charlie, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, I mean . . . you know I spent a lot of time in the training center, and I’ve never seen Sephiroth do anything remotely like that, nor Angeal or Genesis.”

“Who is it that you suppose we’re chasing, if not Sephiroth?”

“I don’t know,” she retorts quickly, blushing, feeling very on the spot. “I’m just saying what I think. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to.”

He looks at her warily for a moment, but eventually turns back around and returns to his work, waving his axe around to cut a path for them. “I’m beginning to regret my decision.” After a moment, he adds, “Bringing you along, Charlotte.”

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” she reminds him.

“That remains to be seen. I have yet to see you fire your gun.”

“How hard can it really be? I just don’t want to waste any ammo.”

“I would rather avoid a repeat of Wutai,” Tseng says firmly, and though he expresses doubts, he continues on, oblivious to the way Elena’s cheeks color. Perhaps he realizes now that turning back would be pointless and a complete waste of time. “And if Sephiroth has a personal vendetta against the Shinra company, that’s reason enough to believe he will not care whether or not his old friend had feelings for you.”

“I have two Turks to protect me,” Charlie replies, flashing him a reassuring smile when he looks over his shoulder at her. “Besides, I have to see it with my own eyes, the thing my father sought for more than half his life. Look how easy it was to find when Turks were assigned to the job.”

“Is that a compliment?” Tseng asks.

“Don’t get excited. It’s a general observation, nothing more.”

Despite her rattling nerves, Charlie is excited for what comes ahead. It feels like a proper adventure—uncharted land, a dense jungle hike, adrenaline surging through her with every step she takes. 

After another half hour, Charlie begins to slow down. She falls behind Tseng a good distance, who continues their journey without complaint. Elena doesn’t let her alone, but Charlie is glad for the company, and glad that Elena doesn’t leave her behind, until—

“So . . . you and Tseng are pretty close, huh?”

“It’s complicated,” she answers, remembering the awkward and gangly girl she had been back when they were young, always taking pleasure in making Veld’s rookie squirm. “But I didn’t have sex with him last night, if that’s what you wanted to ask me in the first place.”

Elena’s face turns bright red and she clears her throat, looking anywhere else but at Charlie or at the man in front of them. “I wasn’t going to ask that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I could hear your entire argument anyway. The walls were really thin.” After a few seconds, she mutters, “Sorry.”

Charlie steals a sideways look at Elena, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s a pretty enough girl, if not a little young, clumsy, and overexcited. Truthfully, she doesn’t think Tseng is foolish enough to pursue anything with a subordinate, but she knows him, and she knows he’s prone to emotional attachment in regards to people he definitely _shouldn’t_ be attached to. 

Case in point: Veld and herself. 

She feels sorry about it now, but there had been times in the past where Charlie had taken it upon herself to chase away women who looked a little too long at him, who spoke a little too much to him, who disclosed designs on the young Turk. 

It’s not that she wanted him for herself exactly, but the thought of losing him to another woman had been a painful thought. It all reminds her horribly of something Rufus might do, but she doesn’t feel _so_ bad about it. Charlie knows that Tseng had chased off men involved in her own life (often in violent ways), and the cycle will continue until they’re both able to move beyond Veld, beyond that loss. 

Charlie inhales deeply, speeding up to walk beside Tseng. “Stay behind me,” is the only thing he says, pushing forward as the temple comes clearly into view. 

The only thing left that prevents their entry is a wooden bridge that makes Charlie weak in the knees. She curls her hand into a fist, remembering the way her hand had felt in Cid’s, and the confident yet careful way he had escorted her across another bridge.

“I’ll go first,” Tseng announces, dropping the small axe into the bag on Elena’s shoulders. He pulls his gun out and insists that Elena and Charlie do the same, as there might be a surprise waiting for them the moment they set foot within. “Charlotte, follow me, and stay close.”

Not wanting to seem weak, Charlie follows Tseng with her gun in her trembling right hand, craning her head back to admire the stonework. There’s a crumbling archway on the opposite side of the bridge that she crosses under, and crossing it at all makes her shiver uncontrollably. 

When she meets Tseng’s eyes, it seems as if he’s felt something more of the same. “We shouldn’t be here,” she tells him, waiting for Elena to finish crossing. “Don’t you feel it?”

“We can’t turn back now.”

Up a long flight of steps, and Charlie finds herself standing at the entrance to the temple proper. It’s dark inside, but when Tseng crosses the threshold, two torches suddenly spring to life, revealing the interior to them. 

“That’s ominous,” Elena says, taking a look around. 

Several thick columns still stand in good shape, keeping the roof from caving in. There are faded murals on the walls, and a bronze sculpture mounted upon the furthest wall, in between the torches. In the very middle of the small room, cast in orange light, is a pedestal resting upon a square dais.

Tseng creeps closer to the dais, extending a hand out towards Charlie and Elena. “The Keystone.”

Elena turns around to allow Charlie access to the bag. She has to dig around for a moment before retrieving it. The Keystone seems to glow a little brighter than it looked to be last night, when Charlie had been admiring it in bed. Perhaps it senses the temple, or the magic that surrounds it. As it passes from her hand to Tseng’s, Charlie can’t help the fluttering of her heart, the anticipation making her dizzy.

He walks right up to the pedestal, unafraid. Charlie and Elena follow him onto the dais, looking down at the several holes carved into the top of the pedestal, holes of different sizes. It’s easy enough to fit the Keystone into the largest one, where it glows bright for a moment and seems to melt, spreading throughout the other holes like a glowing river. 

Something beneath Charlie’s feet shifts and she gasps, catching Tseng’s attention. Before he’s able to turn around, she’s pulled down by some invisible force, phasing through the dais as Sephiroth had phased through the floor of her father’s office.

When she blinks, her surroundings have changed dramatically and she’s still being lowered to solid ground again, with Tseng and Elena on either side of her. They are no longer in the small and cramped room with the torches, but in a place that seems to go sprawling on infinitely in all directions. 

There’s no ceiling above her, but she wouldn’t go so far as to call it a sky, either. Whatever it is is gray, giving them enough light to see clearly. Staircases are everywhere, leading to other staircases and into rooms, everything carved from stone. A few vines have begun to grow up walls and on the sides of the stairs, but there is nothing else for miles. 

“We can’t let ourselves get separated,” Tseng says, sighing heavily as he looks around the room—if it could be called one. It isn’t too warm, nor too cool, and something about the air feels _charged_. “We may not see each other again if we do.”

“Are we still in the temple?” Elena asks, peering over the edge of the narrow landing they’ve all been guided to. “This is impossible, right?”

“It’s magic,” Charlie answers, left breathless by the sheer display. 

Besides seeing Angeal use some materia during training and seeing Cloud and his friends use it when fighting off monsters, Charlie hasn’t had much experience with magic. Her entire life has been built around science and logic, and yet . . . here she is. This is so much more than modern magic—this is magic from thousands of years ago, magic that was likely weaved into the very stone of the temple’s foundations. 

“Hey . . .” Elena looks down at her wrist, tapping at the face of her watch. “My watch is stopped.” She reaches into her pocket. “And my phone isn’t working. Guess we’re not going to call for help.”

“Where do we begin? Do you even know where we’re supposed to go?” Charlie asks Tseng, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place. 

“Let’s just start walking. We might find something in one of these rooms that will lead us to the Black Materia.”

They walk, and they walk, and they walk and walk and walk and walk. They climb up stairs and down stairs, they climb vines to reach otherwise inaccessible pathways and climb to the highest platform they can reach to get a better vantage point. 

They must walk for hours, but it’s impossible to tell. Tseng’s watch has stopped, too, and none of their phones have progressed past 10:36, the time they arrived at the temple. Sometimes it feels like there are more stairs than there seems, and on level ground, sometimes it can feel like she’s walking in place, never getting closer to the other side. 

“You know, I was just thinking,” Charlie pants, climbing yet another staircase. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“Back the way we came,” Tseng answers, sounding slightly out of breath himself. 

“And if there _is_ no way out?” she continues, only able to imagine the worst, her body decaying in this labyrinth alongside Tseng and Elena. 

“Then I suggest you start making your peace,” is his bitter reply. 

No one speaks for a long time after that. Charlie suspects both Tseng and Elena are thinking about their own lives, because it’s all she can think about. She wonders if anyone would ever find their bodies, if anyone would truly mourn her. Certainly Midgar would mourn the vice president, but would anyone mourn for _her?_ For Charlotte Shinra? For Charlie?

Reeve might, but she doesn’t really think that he’s too happy with her right now. 

They walk even further, until Charlie needs to beg Tseng for a break. Once Elena joins in, he doesn’t hold out for much longer. Hardly able to move, Charlie collapses onto the hard ground, spreading out on her back and sighing. 

The space above her is all one color. There is no sun, no moon, no stars, only gray as far as the eye can see. It’s oppressive and not at all comforting. It makes her feel trapped, and she doesn’t like the feeling one bit.

“Sir! Miss Shinra! Look!” Elena whispers urgently. 

Charlie sits up, crawling to Elena’s side and following her line of sight. A few levels below them—three, to be exact—there’s something purple hovering behind a wall, peeking out every so often as if to look at them. 

“What is it?” Charlie asks, trying to get a better look. 

Thankfully, the thing moves out from around the corner, still about fifty yards away. It’s not a purple thing at all, but rather something _dressed_ in purple, in robes that likely wouldn’t look out of place a thousand years ago or so. Hiding its face from view is a pointed hat that looks very frayed and worn, even from this distance, and the lower half of its face is covered by a long white beard.

“Should we follow it, sir?” Elena looks up at Tseng, who narrows his eyes at the stout figure looking up at them, moving restlessly back and forth. “It seems like it’s trying to guide us.”

“Unless you have a better idea,” Charlie adds, raising her eyebrows at Tseng, “I agree with Elena. We’ve been walking for hours now.”

“All right. Elena, lead the way.”

Elena seems thrilled to take the lead, and it seems to give her a burst of energy, as well. She leads them down two flights of stairs, and then down a long set of vines, until they follow the purple thing through an archway that suddenly leads them into pitch darkness.

Charlie can hear both Tseng and Elena breathing, so she knows they’re there. Reaching out blinding in the dark, she finds a soft and slender hand, and part of her is surprised that Elena doesn’t jerk away. Another hand clutches at her shoulder.

“Who am I touching?”

“Me,” Charlie answers, their voices echoing throughout what sounds like a massive cavern. 

“Where’s Elena?”

“Here!” comes her voice from Charlie’s left. 

“I have her hand.”

“Let’s move, then.”

The moment Elena steps forward, there’s a blinding flash of light. Charlie has to shield her eyes, but it’s over within milliseconds—or minutes, or hours, she isn’t sure—and the setting has changed again. 

The darkness still surrounds them, but something out of sight offers them light. A narrow pathway is set before them, leading to a small set of stairs. Charlie turns around to find a tunnel leading back towards the archway they seemingly came through, gray light spilling through it. 

“I don’t like this,” Charlie whispers to Tseng. 

“Just a little further,” he lies. 

They creep up the steps. Charlie walks right in the middle; there’s nothing on either side of her but darkness, nothingness. She doesn’t want to fall into infinite nothingness. 

The stairs lead them to another path that turns right, where the man in purple awaits them on the other side. Halfway down the path, there’s a small alcove with four columns placed in a circle, and something shimmers from within a wide stone basin. 

“He’s waiting for us,” Elena suggests, and she moves forward quickly.

“Elena! Stop!” Tseng shouts, the ground beginning to rumble beneath their feet. 

Elena drops to her knees, and Tseng’s hand comes out to catch Charlie’s upper arm, squeezing tight. The man in the purple robes jumps, hurrying off down a staircase very similar to the one they’ve just climbed, escaping through a hard-packed dirt archway.

Directly where he had been standing moments earlier, something large and cylindrical falls from above. The impact of it shakes the entire pathway, and Elena hurries back to them as it rolls towards them. Tseng drags Charlie back to the stairs, and Elena follows. The stone falls off the edge, but it continues to cycle, with three and four rocks following a few seconds after another. 

As they continue to roll past, Charlie notices that they’re U-shaped, and the divet provides enough room for someone to crouch under if timed properly. 

Tseng looks desperately at Charlie. She knows what he’s thinking. She’s only hindering their progress by being here, and Tseng likely wants to move more quickly than she allows them to. 

“It’s okay,” she says, hoping it reassures him. “I can do it.”

“Stay with me. Elena, watch closely and follow.”

Charlie tries not to let her fear betray her. One wrong move and those stones will break every bone in her body until she becomes part of the floor. She doesn’t have time to think, however, before Tseng is urging her along, crouching down as the first stone rolls over them. 

“You know—” Tseng grabs her hand to jerk her along when given the opportunity—“you complain a lot less—” They hurry to reach the second stone’s carved bend and crouch again to let it pass over them—“than I expected you to.”

“I’d make a—” Charlie ducks low, pushed uncomfortably lower by a firm hand on her back—“pretty good Turk, huh?”

Her thighs are beginning to scream from all the squatting she’s doing. “That’s not funny,” he snaps, racing forward with Charlie on his heels, sliding slightly against the ground as he tries to duck. “Don’t ever joke about that, Charlotte.”

As surprised as she is by his cold reaction, she can’t help but laugh quietly to herself, even as another rock rolls towards them. 

“Why are you laughing?”

They both crouch down at the same time, and when the stone rolls over them, she isn’t as afraid. “It’s just . . .” Charlie gets back to her feet, sprinting towards the last obstacle. “You sounded like Veld just now.”

They reach the end of the pathway while Elena is still a healthy distance away from them, shouting “ _whoa!_ ” during a particularly close call. There’s another flash of bright light that lasts for a split second, that blinds them, and the rumbling comes to a halt, the stones ceasing to obstruct them.

“You’ve asked about joining the Turks before?”

“Once, when I was younger.” Charlie smiles at him, one of her hands on her hips as Elena huffs and puffs over to them, clearly very shaken. “It earned me a scolding from Veld.”

“When was this?”

She chuckles behind her fingers. “A little after I met you, I guess.”

Tseng scoffs and rolls his eyes, acting as if that’s the stupidest possible thing she could have ever done. 

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s not like I did it to hurt you or anything.”

“I didn’t say you did.” 

He glances at Elena, and Charlie is glad that she’s there. If it was just the two of them, Charlie is certain that Tseng would be giving her an earful. 

Following the path the purple-cloaked man had taken, Charlie finds herself next in a circular room with archways all around them to form a giant clock. The minute hand is resting just in front of their platform, an _X_ set into the stone above the door. While the second hand continues to tick away, the hour hand points downwards. 

“Don’t let yourself get knocked off,” Tseng warns them, going first across the narrow minute hand, moving almost gracefully to the center platform, which doesn’t seem very sturdy, floating there in the darkness. 

Charlie goes next, holding her arms out to either side of her like she’s walking a balance beam, and Elena follows, shuffling along with a brave face. 

The southern archway leads them to another outdoor area, the sky the same monotone gray as in the labyrinth room. They might very well be trapped in an anthill, with several tunnels carved in the rockface, as well as in the rock below them. 

There are three levels here, and on the topmost level, where Charlie is, there’s a door that’s very out of place among these crude carvings. Two bronze columns support the ceiling from collapsing, and four stairs lead to a rusting double-door. However, when Elena pulls on the door, it’s locked. 

“Damn,” she sighs, trying one more time before abandoning it completely. Elena shifts the bag on her back and gives the purple man a sideways look. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”

At the sound of Elena’s voice, the man seemingly floats through one of the tunnel entrances. 

“Catch him!” Tseng orders, and as Elena sprints after it, he holds a hand out to stop Charlie from joining the chase. “ _You_ stay here.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, _seriously._ ”

It’s equal parts amusing and frightening to watch Tseng and Elena attempt to catch this little spirit they’ve been following. There’s no telling which hole they’ll come out of when they enter one, and though it seems impossible, Charlie is less surprised now about it than she would have been upon first entering the temple. 

It takes them about ten minutes (not that she really knows, for time seems to move slightly differently wherever they currently are) to catch the purple spirit. Charlie watches from above as Tseng exits one of the tunnels to hold up a sparkling gold key above his head. 

“Charlotte, catch!”

The key soars upward, and Charlie catches it with ease, quickly shoving it into the keyhole of the only real door around, listening to the lock _click!_ open in a rather satisfying way. She struggles to push the doors open, clearly not having been opened for years, but when both Tseng and Elena put their hands to the doors, it’s easy with their combined weight. 

“ _Holy_ —” Elena continues to speak incoherently for a moment, looking around at the room they’ve stumbled upon.

Several torches spring to life here, as well, the further they step into the room. The air feels heavy and sticky here, like it’s pressing Charlie down, holding her back and slowing her down. Everything about this room seems far older than anything else they’ve encountered, and the walls are painted with murals that are beginning to fade with time. 

There are paintings of something that looks like the temple itself, along with many people, all of the same coloring and shape, all wearing the same type of clothing, all facing what has to be the elusive Black Materia. 

“What _is_ all of this?” Elena asks, tilting her head left and right as she looks closely at the paintings. “Do you think it can help us find the Promised Land?”

Charlie turns away from the wall, waiting for Tseng’s answer. His eyes are fixed on another part of the mural, where there’s a large painting of what looks very much like a comet hurtling from the sky towards a group of people. “I wonder,” he muses, looking from Elena to Charlie and back again. “Elena, I need you to report back to the president.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I hope that Charlotte and I can count on your discretion,” Tseng continues firmly, causing Elena’s cheeks to turn bright pink. Charlie averts her eyes, not wanting to seem guilty of anything. “You would have my _sincerest_ gratitude.”

“Y—yes, sir. Of course. Yes.”

“Be careful. Come right back if you encounter trouble leaving.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Charlie and Tseng watch Elena run from the room, the double doors closing heavily behind her. There’s a slight breeze that ruffles her hair, and then the air becomes still and thick again, suffocating her. 

“She has a crush on you,” Charlie teases, watching him discreetly for a reaction. 

“I know.” He hardly reacts at all, too interested in observing the murals on the walls. “What do you think?”

Charlie scoffs, prepared to dig in. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“I meant about the murals. About the temple.” He casts her an incredulous look over his shoulder. “Not Elena. I know very well how you feel about her without having to listen to you say it.”

“Right.” Charlie puts her hands on her hips, looking around carefully. She knows very well what the comet likely is—the calamity that fell from the sky two-thousand years ago. “I don’t understand. Is this supposed to be the Promised Land?”

“I don’t think so,” Tseng answers, moving closer to run his fingertips over the wall. “Yet, there is a certain kind of magic here . . . surely you feel it?”

“Do you think it could be the Black Materia?” Charlie leans in closer, looking with him and pointing to a small black thing painted onto the wall, held high above the heads of the painted people. “It’s here, isn’t it?”

“It could be, but I don’t know that it’s safe to continue the search with just the two of us. We would do better to have a few teams here.”

“If you think so.”

There’s a slight scuffling sound coming from behind them, a shoe against the dirt floor, and both Charlie and Tseng whirl around to find they are no longer alone. She whimpers at the sight of him, and even Tseng’s breath hitches.

“Sephiroth!” Tseng steps forward, putting himself between Charlie and the other man in front of them. 

Sephiroth hasn’t changed since the night her father died. He carries his sword in his left hand, close enough to push it through both Tseng and Charlie without needing to move much closer. If anything, he looks slightly amused to find them both here. 

“You found your way here and opened the door,” Sephiroth tells them smoothly, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “Well done.”

Charlie has to admire Tseng’s ability to face Sephiroth without hesitation, and when he speaks, it’s in his level voice. “What is this place?”

Her fingers curl around Tseng’s shoulder, trying to silently communicate the idea of running. They aren’t going to escape him unharmed if they continue to chat, if they prolong the amount of time they’re here. When Sephiroth moves closer, she squeezes harder. There is no mistaking her fear now. 

“ _This_ —” Sephiroth gestures vaguely around with his free arm—“is a treasure house of forgotten knowledge, a place that possesses the wisdom of the Ancients . . .” He turns towards the walls, letting his eyes scan over the paintings. “I am going to become one with the planet.”

Tseng holds an arm out to stop Charlie from moving any closer. Her heart is beating so fast and so hard now that surely Tseng can feel it against his back. “Become one with the planet?” he asks.

“ _Fools_ , all of you,” Sephiroth hisses, the amused smile on his face vanishing quickly. “You have never stopped to consider it . . . all the spirit energy of this planet and all of its knowledge . . . and wisdom . . .” He opens his arms again, a man gripped by madness, lacking the humanity she knew him to once possess. “And I will meld with it _all_ . . . I will become one with it, and it will become one with me . . .”

Tseng hesitates. “Is that possible?”

“The way . . . lies here,” is Sephiroth’s answer, and he turns slowly to face them again. “Only death awaits you all.” He lifts his sword and Charlie cries out as Sephiroth continues to speak, as if he doesn’t even hear her. “But do not fear.”

Sephiroth brings his sword down swiftly. Any noise that Tseng makes is drowned out by Charlie’s scream of terror, but she’s able to pull herself together in order to catch him before he falls, lowering him to the ground as he bleeds profusely from his abdomen. 

“Tseng!” she cries, lying him on his back. “No, Tseng—”

“For it is through death that a new spirit energy is born,” Sephiroth continues, smiling down at Tseng before meeting Charlie’s eyes. She tries to back away, but he reaches down and grabs a fistful of her hair, dragging her a few feet away from Tseng and keeping her in place. “Soon, you will live again as a new part of me.”

She closes her eyes as Sephiroth holds the cold steel to the side of her neck, and the blade is so sharp that she can feel it cutting into her skin with the smallest bit of pressure. 

At least he’s going to make it quick. Death would be a mercy, and at least she won’t be alone while it happens. At least Tseng will be here while it happens, and she won’t have to rot here alone. When people find her body hundreds of years from now, they’ll mourn the two nameless people who were left behind . . . but at least . . . they’re here together . . .

_Kill me._

Several minutes must pass. She’s lost all track of time now. Charlie opens her eyes to find Sephiroth still hovering over her, his fingers tight in her hair still, blade just underneath her jawline. 

“Please,” she begs in a hoarse voice, but she doesn’t know whether she’s begging for her life, or for an end to it. 

“Leave her—” Tseng rasps, lying on his side in a pool of his own blood. “Sephiroth . . . leave her . . .”

“Does seeing him like that truly make you want to die so badly?” Sephiroth asks in a low voice, moving his sword slightly and cutting deeper into her skin. It hardly does more than sting, but it causes her heart to stop momentarily. 

Charlie nods, wondering how he could possibly know something so intimate as that, and she tries to lean away from the blade, but Sephiroth has a firm grip on her hair. 

“Death will come for you, as well,” he tells her, pulling his sword away and pushing her towards Tseng. She scrambles on her hands and knees over to him, shielding him with her body, breathing so hard that she nearly passes out. “But slowly . . . and painfully . . . and not before you watch helplessly as he dies in your arms . . .”

And to her surprise, Sephiroth takes a few steps back, opens his arms wide, and shoots upwards, phasing through the ceiling as if he was nothing more than a ghost. 

But his hand in her hair had been real, and the hot breath on her face had been very real, and the sword at her neck had been very, very real. And Tseng, bleeding out as she tries to remember what’s going on, is certainly not putting on an act. 

“Tseng . . .” she whispers, her voice breaking. “ _No_ . . .” Charlie looks down at him, horrified. She helps move him, propping him against the wall, each of his sighs and grunts breaking her heart further. 

“Go . . . check the door . . .”

“Okay.” She pushes herself to her feet, running to the door that Elena had taken only a few minutes ago. When Charlie tries to open it, however, she finds it locked. She screams for help, kicks and pounds at it, but no one comes, and it’s impossible to break down. 

_I’m going to die here,_ she thinks, running her hands through her hair. _We’re both going to die here._

It’s all so overwhelming. How is she supposed to feel? She hardly feels anything, only a sense of numbness. Charlie drops to her knees beside Tseng again, breathing very shakily. Any moment now, she’s going to start crying. The lump is already forming in her throat, and the tears are making her eyes burn. 

She knows she has to do _something_. Both of Tseng’s arms are covering his abdomen, and when Charlie gently takes hold of his wrists to move them, she meets only a slight resistance. 

“I have to look,” she breathes, feeling the first few tears beginning to streak down her cheeks, liquid fire against her skin. “I have to see if I can help.”

He nods quickly, hardly, and his eyes flutter closed. His face is very pale, and sweat gleams upon his hairline. Charlie moves his arms aside and his suit jacket seems to fall apart after having been sliced so cleanly. His white undershirt is soaked in blood and, with violently trembling hands, Charlie unbuttons the rest of it, opening his shirt to reveal the horror underneath. 

She has to look away, holding her hands above the deep wound that pulses dark red blood. It runs from just underneath his right breast to his left hip bone, and it is one of the most gruesome sights she’s ever seen. His entire torso is smeared with blood and sweat, and he seems to convulse every few seconds. 

“That bad?” Tseng croaks, eyelids heavy.

Charlie shakes her head, but the tears betray her. She holds her hands to his abdomen, hoping to staunch the bleeding. She knows that it’s useless, but she can’t just sit here and watch him bleed out. The blood is warm, seeping through her fingers, staining her milky skin, fingers, hands, forearms, and her clothes. 

“I shouldn’t . . . have brought you . . . here,” he rasps, never looking away from her face. His eyes are so heavy now, and Charlie thinks they look a little watery. “I’m . . . sorry . . .”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize.” She presses a little harder on his stomach, but it only makes him groan. “It’s okay. I’m going to think of a way to get us out of here. I’m going to get us out of this place and we’re going to go back to Midgar, together. It’s okay.”

“Charlotte . . .” Tseng grits his teeth in pain, still slumped against the wall. “I’m not . . . leaving here . . .”

She knows it. Even if the door were open, there’s no possible way that Tseng would be able to make it all the way back to where they started. Charlie grits her teeth, glad his eyes are closed to keep him from catching her crying harder, her tears mingling with his blood, dripping from the tip of her nose to fall upon the back of her hands. 

Charlie lifts one of her hands, painted with his blood, to touch his face. She pushes his hair behind his ears, the hair that sticks to his sweaty face. “I love you,” she sobs quietly. “I love you _so_ much.”

“I know,” he answers, looking up through long lashes at her. A small, sad smile tugs at his lips. 

She takes his hand in hers, slowly pulling off his glove to touch his hand. His palm is all sweaty, but Charlie laces her long fingers with his own. He brings her fingers to his lips, closing his eyes again and letting their hands fall away from his face limply. 

Charlie smiles down at him, so full of love for him for the first time in, what feels like, forever. Her entire body shakes as she continues to cry, shifting him from against the wall so he’s cradled against her chest like a child. She buries her face in his hair, holds him for the last time, resigned to the fact they’re going to die here, and she’s surprisingly at ease with the idea. 

“I don’t want you to die,” she cries. There are so many things she wants to say to him, but now that the moment to say them has come, she can’t remember a single thing she’s ever wanted to say to _anyone_. 

_Gods, please help him,_ she thinks to no one in particular, hoping that one of the long dead Ancients can hear her begging for mercy, for a way to save him from this horrible fate. He doesn’t deserve this. 

_Please help us. Please let him live. Please open the door, get us out of here._

His breathing seems shallow.

_Let him live, and I will do anything to stop Sephiroth. Let him live, and let me die instead. Take us out of here. Bring us back. Bring him back._

The air seems to change. 

It seems to thin again, and she can breathe properly, and there’s a light breeze on the back of her exposed neck. Tseng is so still that she isn’t certain he’s still alive—until he draws a rasping breath, his eyes remaining closed. 

Charlie lifts her head, looking around. _Am I dead? Am I dreaming?_ They’re sitting on the dais in the entrance room of the temple, right in front of the pedestal. And in her right hand—when did _that_ happen?—is something that fits snugly in her palm. 

When she uncurls her fingers, she sees that it’s the Keystone in her shaking hand, glowing bright, as if recognizing spirit within her that she hasn’t been able to channel previously with any other materia. 

The sun is still high in the sky, judging by the positions of the shadows, and everything is still quiet. 

“Tseng—” she whispers to him, crying harder at the thought of _hope_. “Tseng, look—look, we’re out—”

He opens his eyes, struggling slightly, and looks around. “Go, Charlotte . . . before he comes back . . .”

“What?” she asks, scoffing through her tears and looking down into his deathly white face, dark shadows appearing under his eyes. “I’m not leaving you here. I’m not leaving you behind.”

He lifts his hand a few inches to touch her neck, where Charlie had completely forgotten she was wounded. The adrenaline surging through her keeps it from stinging. 

“When Avalanche comes . . .” he says, face twisted in pain. “You will . . . go with them.”

Charlie frowns. “No,” she answers, “no, I’m not—I’m not just going to _leave_ you here.”

“Yes—”

“ _No!_ ” she protests. “Elena’s going to come back and take us both home—”

“I will not let her . . . take you back to Midgar . . . to the president . . . your brother . . .”

“I want to stay with _you_.”

It’s not fair, she thinks. It’s not fair that the world would take Tseng away from her, not after taking Veld (and her _actual_ father). Not after taking her mother. Not after taking Angeal.

For a long time they just look at each other. Charlie wants to remember every aspect of his face, never wanting to forget like she had tried to forget Veld. She touches his cheek again, fingertips skating over smooth skin, wanting to preserve this moment. 

At least he doesn’t have to die alone. 

At least he doesn’t have to die thinking that no one would mourn him or grieve for him. 

“You were my family, Tseng.”

A soft noise escapes him that sounds almost like a desperate half-sob and half-laugh. “And you were mine.”


	50. Chapter 50

They find her on the floor of the Temple of the Ancients, cradling a grown man against her chest (who may or may not be dead), shell-shocked, shaking, and covered in his blood, bleeding from a wound on her neck, as well.

“Holy shit—”

He can’t believe she’s here, can’t believe that scum-sucking Turk would bring Lottie to such a dangerous place when he claimed to be responsible for her safety. 

It’s truly a gruesome sight, and that’s coming from someone who fought in a war. The Turk’s shirt (once white, now soaked with crimson blood) has been unbuttoned and pushed aside to reveal the horror, his entire torso smeared with more blood. Something has sliced the Turk nearly in two, and one of Charlie’s hands is pressed lightly against the diagonal wound as if hoping it might help. Her eyes are red and nearly swollen shut, her pale cheeks blotchy.

There’s blood everywhere around the two of them. There’s blood pooling on the floor beneath the Turk, it’s on both of their faces, it stains Charlie’s beautiful skin up to her elbows, and has found its way into her hair. It’s a fucking blood bath, and seems to inspire a brief thrill of terror within everyone. 

Aerith is the first to kneel on the other side of the Turk. She reaches out to place a gentle hand on Charlie’s shoulder, and to Cid’s surprise, the Turk opens his eyes. He hardly looks surprised to see everyone standing around them, sighing very heavily. 

“Help him,” Charlie whispers desperately to Aerith, and it breaks his fucking heart to see her like this, to see her begging for help, a part of her he’s never seen before. “ _Please_.”

Cloud and Vincent stand back out of everyone’s way, but Cait Sith jumps down from his reliable steed and follows Cid as he takes a few wary steps forward. He knows well enough that there’s nothing to be done. None of their shitty healing materia will fix _that_. The Turk is going to bleed out any second and go limp right in Charlie’s arms, looking more than halfway there already.

“There’s nothing I can do . . .” Aerith replies. She frowns, looking down at the Turk and the deep gash in his torso. “I’m so sorry.”

The Turk speaks directly to Cait Sith. “It’s not . . . the Promised Land . . . Sephiroth is searching for . . .”

“Sephiroth is inside?” Cloud asks, unable to avoid looking down at the scene that’s playing out cruelly before their eyes.

“See . . . for yourself . . .” One of his hands touches Charlie’s, painstakingly prying her fingers off something round in her hand, and he removes the Keystone from the center of her palm, offering it out to Cloud. 

Cloud takes it hesitantly, meeting no resistance. 

Charlie’s entire body is trembling violently, and she holds him tighter, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Can’t you do something? Anything?” she asks Aerith again. “Please, you have to help him.”

Aerith gives Charlie an apologetic look, glancing down at the Turk between them again. Cid has to admit, dying in the vice president’s arms doesn’t seem like a bad gig—not that he would _ever_ say that to Charlie. But there are worse ways to go, even though the cut in his torso seems pretty goddamn painful.

“Letting you go . . . was the start . . . of my bad luck,” he croaks up at Aerith, a rasping breath escaping him that might have been a laugh under better circumstances. “The president was . . . wrong . . .”

“ _You’re_ wrong!” Aerith counters, her voice beginning to crack. “The Promised Land isn’t like what you’ve imagined. And I’m not going to help. Either way, there was no way Shinra would have won.”

“Pretty harsh . . . sounds like something . . . you’d say . . .” With nowhere else to look but up, the Turk looks up into Charlie’s eyes, a tremulous smile on his face. It’s odd to see someone so fucking brutal smile up at her like she’s the entire fucking world. 

Aerith stands up, covers her face in her hands, and runs to a corner of the small room to cry softly into her palms. 

“C’mon, Lottie, we gotta move him,” Cid says, reaching down to help her back to her feet, but she resists, trying to shrug him off. “C’mon, honey, it’s okay—”

“ _No!_ ” she screams, and Cid holds his hands up defensively, moving away from her. 

“Charlotte, please go . . . leave me . . .”

“I’m not leaving you here—”

“Please . . .” This time, the Turk looks right at _him_. Cid hovers by Charlie’s side, feeling both satisfied at the sight of the Turk cut nearly in half and horrified that Charlie has been subjected to witnessing something so heinous. “Take her . . . with you . . .”

Charlie’s entire face contorts, eyebrows furrowing together. “No—”

“Aerith, Cait Sith, and I will go on ahead,” Cloud instructs them. “Cid, Vincent . . . take Charlie back to the _Tiny Bronco_.”

“No, please—”

“Hey, Charlie, it’ll be okay,” Cait Sith says, putting a small hand on her back. 

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps at the cat. 

Cait Sith doesn’t back away immediately. “Charlie, you’ve gotta go back. You’ve gotta get outta here.”

The Turk closes his eyes and groans, being shifted around in Charlie’s arms as she’s pulled this way and that by her companions. She refuses to let go of him. “She . . . deserves to . . . know,” he chokes out, and Cid looks around. She deserves to know _what?_

But Cait Sith answers, “I know, I know,” in a quiet voice. 

Cid puts a firm hand on her shoulder, but this time, she doesn’t try to shake him off. “C’mon, Lottie, we gotta go.” 

“Just one more minute,” she begs breathlessly, refusing to stand. Cid wonders how long she’s been kneeling here on the stone ground, wonders if she even feels the ground beneath her. 

The Turk looks up at her through long eyelashes and heavy lids, looking very close to death now. She releases her grip on his ungloved hand and Cid can see the uncontrollable way it continues to shake. 

“Hey, Tseng,” she whispers, cupping his face in her hand, “you still owe me dinner.”

He nods, his hair and face soaked with sweat. “Make the reservations . . and I’ll meet you . . . there . . .”

This makes Charlie cry again, but she’s smiling through it. Tseng looks pleased with himself despite everything, exhaling softly and letting his eyes flutter closed. Each time he closes them, it seems like it’s for a longer period of time. 

“Tseng,” she says again, and he hums quietly in return as Charlie untangles him from her arms. “Thank you.” And then, taking his hand again, she adds, “I love you.”

Cid can’t help the way his stomach churns. Doesn’t she realize what that asshole is capable of? Doesn’t she remember what that asshole did to him? 

Yet Tseng’s eyes struggle to open one more time. He looks down at their hands, and brings her knuckles to his mouth to brush his lips against the backs of her bright red fingers. “Go,” he croaks one last time, gesturing with his chin towards Cid. “Go, Charlotte.”

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“I’m not . . . dead yet . . .” he tells her, letting go of her hand completely. His arm falls lazily to his side. “If you loved me . . . you would go . . .”

Charlie wipes at her tears angrily. “You Turks and your dirty tricks,” she breathes, pushing his dark hair out of his face. “Promise you’ll still meet me for dinner. I’ll call you about the reservation.”

“I promise.”

Cid squeezes her shoulder gently. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”

Charlie nods, looking down into Tseng’s face one last time. He looks peaceful enough to be sleeping, but his chest still moves slightly, shallow breaths that are becoming harder and harder to draw, it seems. 

And after what seems like hours, Charlie gets to her feet, turning towards Cid. It’s horribly quiet inside the temple, save for Aerith’s soft sniffling, and Cid reaches out for Charlie’s hand, twining their fingers together before hurrying her out of the temple.

Before they even cross the bridge that will take them back into the dense jungle that surrounds the temple, Charlie stops abruptly, breaking down into sobs that will surely give their position away immediately to any monsters or Shinra nearby. 

She tries to pull away from him, her sweaty hand slipping from his own, but Cid turns and catches her before she can take two steps towards the temple again. It’s very likely the Turk is already dead. 

“Lottie, it’s okay, sweet girl,” Cid assures her, both hands on either side of her face. She hardly even looks like herself, and being covered in another man’s blood isn’t a good look for her. “It’s okay. C’mon, we’re gonna take you back to everyone. They’re all waitin’ for you.”

“I can’t leave him to die,” she cries, still struggling. “He’s my family—I can’t just leave him—”

“He knows his fate,” Vincent suddenly says, quieting her. Cid’s grip on her face slackens, and she turns to face him. “And he knows yours, should you remain.” He walks right up to them, looking at the cut on her neck. Dried blood is already caking all over her milky skin. He lifts his good hand, his palm touching the wound. “Hold still. It isn’t as deep as it looks.”

Charlie’s eyes go wide with terror, but Cid smiles at her, which seems to calm her. The healing materia in Vincent’s bangle begins to glow bright, and Charlie’s eyes close as _something_ happens. When he pulls his hand away, the skin has stitched itself back together, leaving behind a bright pink scar. 

“Don’t worry. Cait Sith won’t leave him there to die,” Vincent says, giving her a slight nod before setting a quick pace through the already cleared jungle pathway. 

She clings to Cid’s hand the entire way, and doesn’t speak once. 

* * *

The pain of being sliced open is bad, but the pain of having both Charlotte and Aerith looking down at him had been _infinitely_ worse. 

Fate is unfailingly cruel, to have the two women he had sworn to protect crying over him as he lay dying in the vice president’s arms. Looking at them, all he could think about was how much he had failed them, how often he let them down, how he had made them both cry. 

Aerith may have held it against him, and she had good reason to. He always could have been kinder towards the Ancient, a little friendlier, a little more casual. But Charlotte hadn’t held anything against him, despite all the lies and falsehoods he’s fed her in the past, choosing to remember the better parts of himself that typically remain hidden from the general population. 

Despite him lying about Angeal, lying about Veld, lying about nearly every aspect of his life, Charlotte had still held him as he lay dying, had told him that she loved him, would have dragged him back to safety if she had the chance. 

He never thought anyone would mourn for him, but he should have known that Charlotte would. Despite his insistence on pushing her away, he’d never been entirely successful. 

How could he have been so _foolish?_ Veld would never let him hear the end of it if he knew Tseng had dragged her into the Temple of the Ancients, but it would have been worse had he brought her back to Midgar. He wasn’t about to hand Charlotte over to Rufus, to continue whatever may have happened after he’d turned off the cameras in her cell. 

He shouldn’t have taken her from Gold Saucer. He never should have taken her away from Avalanche. Those people were protecting her, were keeping her safe. Wasn’t that his own goal? Weren’t they all of the same mind, even if they went about it in different ways? 

What was he thinking? He never imagined the Temple of the Ancients would bring them face to face with Sephiroth, and he never imagined that it would end like this. He could have wept when Sephiroth decided to spare her in the hopes that they would die together in that room, unable to escape.

He thinks . . . that might have been all right. 

He could have relocated her, hidden her somewhere no one would have ever found her. His first thought had been Junon—the city is large enough for her to hide in plain sight. If that hadn’t worked, Tseng would have _made_ something work. He would have told Reeve where she was, and he would have been happy knowing that Charlotte was living a life not promised to her as vice president of Shinra Inc.

He could have found at least one place on the entire planet to keep her safe until things blew over, and if the president wasn’t happy with that rogue decision, then Tseng would have accepted the consequences. 

He should be dead already. It is coming for him, painful and uncomfortable, and while he’s propped up against the pillar, Tseng tries to figure out how much time has passed since Cloud, Aerith, and Cait Sith descended into the labyrinth. 

All he knows is that someone _does_ come for him, but it is not Charlotte, nor the crass pilot that he had entrusted to get her to safety, but a second Cait Sith, riding another stuffed moogle, looking exactly the same as the one currently in the bowels of the Temple of the Ancients. 

“You’re in a bad way, Tseng,” the cat tells him, and Tseng forces himself to attempt to smile, but he isn’t certain it comes through that way. “But you’re still alive. Charlie will be so happy.”

“Where is the Black Materia?” he rasps.

“I’m going to let Cloud have it,” Cait Sith replies. “I’m staying with them. They’re an interesting bunch and . . . I think I want to stay with Charlie, no matter what.”

“Fine,” Tseng agrees, only because he doesn’t have the strength to argue. “You take . . . good care of her, Reeve . . .”

“Haven’t I always?”

“No,” Tseng answers, and Cait Sith chuckles. It’s not entirely true—Reeve has always taken good care of Charlotte to the best of his ability, but there were times when Tseng didn’t think Reeve knew _how_ to care for Charlotte. “She’s . . . she’s like my . . .” 

He can’t finish his thought, not with the lump forming in his throat. It’s a humiliating situation to be caught in, but Reeve knows. 

“I know. I’m gonna let HQ know about your status.” Cait Sith’s moogle extends its arms. “And I’ll come see you when I’m able.”

Tseng nods as the moogle’s arms slip underneath him. “Wait . . .” he says, blinking a few times into the cat’s face. “Wh—”

The pain is so bad when he’s lifted off the ground that it knocks him unconscious, and when he opens his eyes again, it’s to find himself on board a ship with Cait Sith nowhere to be found, but he’s looking up into the gruff face of someone he hasn’t seen in, what feels like, a very long time.

“Good. You’re alive. How’s Charlotte?”

“Alive,” Tseng croaks. “Safe.”

“Good man. Reeve told me what happened in the temple.” A rough hand pats the side of his sticky and sweaty face. “You should be proud of her, Tseng. She’s looked after you all this time I’ve been gone, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” is all he’s able to say, closing his eyes again. He can’t remember what the question was.

“Hey,” Veld says again, tapping Tseng’s face lightly to get his eyes to open once more. “I’m proud of you, too.” 

* * *

“Here, I brought your stuff with us from the Gold Saucer. Figured . . . y’know, maybe we’d see each other again.”

Charlie doesn’t answer, sitting at the edge of the spring with her knees pulled to her chest. Cid sets her backpack down beside her. 

They had to walk a few minutes into the forest to find a private place to clean her up after everyone else kept ogling her and questioning her, ignoring Vincent’s vague explanation in the hopes of hearing it from Charlie herself. 

“Well . . . I’m gonna . . .” Cid rubs the back of his neck, torn between staying and offering her privacy, but he doesn’t really think she’s in any hurry to clean the blood off her. “I’ll just be over here, keepin’ watch, okay?”

“No,” she says, in a voice hoarse from crying. She turns to him with wide eyes, looking up at him like he’s going to be walking to his death. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to . . . stay with me.”

Cid flushes. He doesn’t have the courage to do this right now. Only a little while ago, he had convinced himself he hated her, but it’s hard to hate her when she keeps showing him little pieces of herself, pieces of herself that have long since been buried. 

He’s not going to make the same stupid fucking mistake he made all those years ago. He’s not going to let himself fall in love with Charlotte fucking Shinra, of all people. He’s not going to let her break his fucking heart into a million little pieces when she leaves, only to watch her show up again when his heart is just on the mend. 

But what is he supposed to do? Just leave her here to pick up the pieces of her own broken heart? Besides, she isn’t engaged anymore, so he can’t say that he’s overstepping. The girl just watched someone she loved bleed out in her arms. He can’t just _leave_ her. 

“Okay,” he answers, holding out a hand for her. 

Charlie looks at it for a long time before placing her bloodstained hand into his own, allowing him to pull her slowly to her feet. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs, trying to run fingers through her matted hair, swiping at some dried blood still on her neck. “It’s all over, Lottie. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

She nods, lowering her head afterwards, her face contorting. Cid touches her shoulders, his heart beating very fast. He’s never been good at offering people comfort, and he doesn’t know where to begin comforting Charlie. 

“Let’s get you in the water, and you’ll feel better.” Charlie seems to agree with him, looking away and nodding vaguely. Cid doesn’t think she’s really present at all, and her pale eyes look deadened. “I’m gonna . . .” _Fucking hell, she’s really gonna make me do this, she’s gonna make me undress her_ —

“You’re going to what?” she asks, looking up into his face, so fucking sad, so fucking pathetic. 

“Maybe I should go get Tifa or somethin’,” he suggests, taking a step backwards. “It’d be better to have a . . . a girl do this, right?”

“Oh.” Charlie wraps her arms around herself protectively. He’s fucked it all up and disappointed her now. _Good job, you stupid son of a bitch._ “If you think so, then okay.”

Cid sighs heavily. What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation? He really doesn’t feel at all sorry for the Turk. In fact, the bastard had it coming, but he remembers what Charlie had been like after her father died, and it didn’t seem like she was anywhere close to _this._

“Look, if I . . . if I can get you a phone, you think you’d be able to call up your boyfriend?” Cid asks, hating himself for asking it, but she’s not fit to be traveling with them now. “If you can arrange for a place to meet him, I’ll take you there.”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m not going back.”

“C’mon, Lottie—”

“Sephiroth hurt someone I loved very much, and left him to die in my arms.” There’s a mean and steely glint to her eyes. She’s serious. “I want to stay. I want to fight . . . for him.” Oh fuck, she’s _serious._ “And I want to fight with you.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid, that sounds like a fuckin’ dream.” Cid smiles weakly at her. 

It must be the shape she’s in and all the blood all over her, but he doesn’t think he’s willing to drag her along on what seems like a suicide mission. It occurs to him then that . . . maybe Charlie already knows how this might end. Maybe she’s known it all along. 

He used to think Charlie was untouchable. She was a _Shinra_ , one of the most powerful women in the world at such a young age, a fucking goddamn genius who was plastered on every magazine cover to showcase nothing else but how _beautiful_ she was. 

Up close, seeing her in such pain . . . she’s just a girl, a young woman whose composure and facade is slowly crumbling. A young woman who had been used by her father to gain his company favor from civilians, who had shouldered the blame for the disasters in Midgar, who had suffered defeat after defeat without breaking. 

_Fuck_ if she’s not breaking now. And even though he hates things that she’s done, that her father’s company has done, that she’s said, Cid can’t just walk away while it’s happening around people she hardly knows, people that feel contempt and disgust towards her still. 

She _trusts_ him. 

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than anything. He’s been stuck inside his own head for too long. He doesn’t even remember what he said last. “Let’s get you cleaned up, kiddo.”

Trying to keep his shaking hands under control (he must be tired, because women certainly don’t make him so goddamn nervous), Cid tugs her shirt upwards, stiff with dried blood and sweat. She lifts her arms and it comes right off, but its smeared more blood on her face, the tip of her nose and her lips and forehead. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen her shirtless. He _did_ own filthy magazines with far worse pictures of her in them, but he guesses it’s the context of the situation that makes his heart beat a little faster. 

She looks a little skinny, but Cid doesn’t think she’s been eating so well lately, especially given all the exercise she’s been getting. Ribs are starting to poke against her skin, and there’s an odd bruise here and there. 

He forces himself not to look at her tits. It helps that they’re covered. He isn’t going to act like a fucking lecher, and he certainly isn’t going to make any move to uncover them. 

“You’re not wearin’ any earrings,” he notes. She’s been wearing million gil diamonds on her ears since she left Rocket Town with him, and it’s queer to see her ears so bare.

“No,” she says, kicking her boots off slowly and pushing her pants down her long legs. He thanks the gods she decides to keep her bra and underwear on. “Tseng thought they might get caught on something.”

Cid watches her take her socks off, throwing them aside. She looks down into the spring, and then quickly glances over her shoulder with wide eyes. “I’m still here,” he tells her with a smile, sticking his halberd in the soft ground and sitting down at the edge of the spring, lighting a cigarette. 

It takes her a minute, but she gets in eventually, submerging herself to her chin. Much of the blood comes off without much effort, and she allows him to scrub her arms and face, his cigarette pinched between his lips as she rests her neck against the mud bank, his fingers working to wash the blood from her hair. 

It all happens in silence. Cid doesn’t think she wants to answer any questions, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He doesn’t want to piss her off too bad. 

When he finishes, he leans back on one hand, smoking casually as he watches Charlie move about for a little. She’s graceful, and clearly a decent swimmer. After another minute or so, she swims right up to him, placing her arms on the ground to hold herself up, looking like a goddamn mermaid in the flesh. 

She doesn’t speak. She only looks at him with those doe-eyes. 

“What?” he chuckles. “Is there somethin’ on my face?”

Charlie shakes her head, never looking away from him. “I just feel like there’s so much I want to say to you.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks hard, resting her chin against her now-clean forearms. There are tears in her eyes again. “There was so much I wanted to tell Tseng. Thirteen years worth of things I kept to myself, and now he’ll never know.”

“Shouldn’t keep that shit in, honey.”

“I’m not good at . . .” Charlie blushes furiously, lowering herself back into the water. “It’s difficult for me sometimes.” 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really know what to say. 

“Cid, we’re friends . . . aren’t we?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.” Cid can’t take it any longer. He stabs his cigarette out on the ground and moves closer. “C’mere, baby.”

Charlie responds immediately, clambering out of the spring and crawling towards him. Soaking wet, hardly wearing any clothes, she falls into him and cries. One of his arms wraps around her skinny little shoulders, his other hand cradling the back of her head, his cheek pressed to her forehead. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against her hair, feeling her body tremble against his own. “It’s all right. You’re gonna be okay.” 

He sighs, holding her tight. It may be the only chance he gets. 

* * *

“. . . several blood transfusions, and there’s going to be severe scarring left behind. Recovery is going to be a long process, and he’ll be tired of his hospital room by the end of it, but he’ll live. He’s stable, but sleeping now, if you’d like to see him.”

“Let me see him,” Veld growls.

Dr. Eugene leads Reeve and Veld to a back room of the hospital, weaving through the crowded corridors. 

It’s been a long night. 

By the time Cait Sith had returned to their party with an unconscious Cloud in his arms and a very solemn-looking Aerith, Cid had gotten Charlie to sleep in the tent. Regrettably, they had no choice but to wake her, load up the _Tiny Bronco_ , and make for Gongaga for the night, the closest known place available to them. 

The moment he had finished his desperate phone call to Veld, Reeve had packed up his own things and left Midgar immediately for Junon, on a helicopter flown by a pilot he was able to bribe. He still isn’t sure how he’s going to explain this series of events to Rufus. 

To have the president think himself completely alone might be a good thing, with both Charlie and Tseng out of his reach. Or it could backfire completely, and Rufus might start lashing out if he feels as if he’s being backed into a corner. 

The Black Materia gone, in Sephiroth’s hands. Tseng presumed dead and currently in hiding. The Temple of the Ancients gone, reduced to nothing. Cloud, unconscious after having suffered some sort of mental break. Charlie, on the verge of her own breaking point (though it’s very possible she reached her breaking point _months_ ago, when the first reactor exploded). 

Tseng’s in bad shape, but there’s a bit of color back in his face, and his torso is wrapped in thick bandages to hide the wound. He’s hooked up to several machines that keep track of his vitals, but those machines reassure Reeve that he’s very much alive. 

Veld sighs very heavily, looking down at Tseng. His hand jumps to cover his mouth, to rub distractedly at the scruff on his face. “He owes you his life.”

“I wouldn’t have left him behind to die.”

“I don’t understand any of it,” Veld says into his palm. “But at least he wasn’t alone when it happened.”

“It was . . . very touching, seeing them say good-bye to each other,” Reeve admits, feeling his neck grow slightly warm. 

He had been physically uncomfortable viewing the scene in the mural room, the scene that was shown to them by whatever Ancient spirits still lingered. Seeing Charlotte and Tseng confess things they had probably been avoiding for years was enough to bring him to tears. 

“She’s with Avalanche now,” Reeve continues, pursing his lips. Veld hardly reacts. “She’s determined to fight Sephiroth.”

That makes Veld scoff, a small smile on his face. “She very well _could_ be my daughter, huh?”

“You’re not even going to try and stop her?”

“Why would I?”

“It’s a goddamn suicide mission, Veld. She could die.”

“She’s a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. If that’s what she wants, then let her have it.” Veld almost sounds like his old self again. He gestures at Tseng with a nod. “We’ve done our part. How much more can you ask the boy to do for her? At some point, the girl’s gotta learn how to stand on her own two feet.”

Reeve falters, his cheeks on fire. “You _did your part?_ ” he asks incredulously. “Don’t you care whether she lives or dies? She thought of you as her father, and you’re content to let her go on this . . . this _adventure_ —”

“What am I to do, Reeve?” Veld sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. He seats himself in a chair at Tseng’s bedside, legs stretched out in front of him. “What do you want me to do? I have no authority over her anymore. She’s still the vice president, and all of us in this room are her subordinates, even you. She doesn’t even know if I’m alive.”

Reeve groans, wanting to rip his hair out. He’s exhausted beyond belief. “But she—”

“You don’t give her enough credit.” Veld smiles smugly, picking up the chart on the end table and flipping through it. “You forget who raised that girl.”

Veld may have raised Charlie to be relatively kind and polite, charming and curious, but none of those things will help her on the road. She isn’t a fighter, and having been surrounded by Turks all her life has taught her to rely too much on the protection of others, always expecting a safety net when she dives headfirst into trouble. 

“Why should she have to go back to Midgar to run a company that has failed her at every turn?” 

Reeve blushes. He doesn’t want to argue with Veld. That’s the last thing he wants. 

“The company crushed the poor girl’s dreams and humiliated her at every turn, on her own father’s orders. You say Tseng wanted her to go with Avalanche, then I trust he had a good reason to believe she’d be safe with them.”

“It’s just that—”

“She isn’t going to come back willingly,” Veld says, sounding slightly impatient. “Thinking up clever ways to drag her back to Midgar is a waste of your precious time, and mine.”

“Why would she even want to be with them?” Reeve hears himself asking, and he wonders why he hasn’t asked himself that same question. “I mean . . . how could she be happy . . .”

Why is he _really_ keeping Cait Sith with them? To spy on Charlie? To make sure Cid Highwind isn’t going to try anything with her? 

“You’re asking me how Charlotte could be happy surrounded by people who _want_ her around?” Veld scoffs, setting the chart back on the table and getting to his feet. 

The steady beeping that indicates Tseng’s heart rate fills the brief silence. 

Reeve can’t say he doesn’t understand. He lowers his eyes, thinking of the house in Kalm, with Elmyra and Marlene. They’re always so welcoming when he’s in town, always asking him to stay for dinner or to look over Marlene’s school work or to fix something in the house. 

Isn’t that why he spends so much time with a family that isn’t even his? For a chance to feel wanted? To feel useful? To feel helpful?

“Where are you staying?” Veld asks quietly. 

“Nowhere. I have to get back to Midgar. The president will be waiting for a report, I’m sure.”

“And what are you going to tell him?”

Reeve looks down at Tseng. He’s filled with a horrible feeling of guilt and foreboding. “Killed in action,” he answers. “Body not recovered.”

A strong hand clamps down on the nape of his neck. Veld exhales loudly and pulls his hand away. “Thank you.”

* * *

It’s late when they reach Gongaga.

Cait Sith weaves them some fanciful story about the inner workings of the Temple of the Ancients (like she doesn’t know already), and while Aerith says little, she doesn’t contradict him. He tells them about Sephiroth’s plan to become some kind of god, how he intends to use the Black Materia to summon Meteor, how the Black Materia had been the temple and how Sephiroth had somehow forced Cloud to give the Black Materia to him. 

Charlie locks herself away the first moment she gets, but beds are scarce tonight with so many in their party, and she’s forced to share with Aerith again. She’s actually glad she doesn’t have to be alone, sleeping in the same bed she had shared with Tseng just last night. 

If she had known then . . . if she had known that dying in the Temple of the Ancients would be his fate . . . 

She closes her eyes, her back to the door and to Aerith. There’s no possible way she’ll be able to fall back asleep. The only way she had fallen asleep earlier was after Cid drugged her with some medicine. She had deserved it. She was hysterical. 

Not only can she _not_ stop thinking about the way Tseng had looked with his abdomen slashed open, but she has a horrible, horrible feeling about Cait Sith. She doesn’t even want to give the thought credence, doesn’t even want to voice it aloud, because it can’t be possible, it can’t be true. 

She would know. Reeve would have told her. _Reeve would have told her_. 

She’s just being paranoid. She just wants Cait Sith to be someone who could actually have saved Tseng. 

Charlie touches the scar on her neck, now a lifelong reminder of what happened in the temple. Vincent had apologized for not being able to cure it completely, but it was bound to get infected if left untreated. She knows that. She isn’t angry with him for it, but she doesn’t want to look at it every day of her life, either. 

Is this her fault? Could she have done something differently? Could she have somehow dragged him out of the temple to seek help? Could she have carried him all that way, until the _Tiny Bronco_ arrived with her friends? Should she have called someone? Should she have called Elena or Reno or Rude or Rufus? Should she have called Reeve?

_No, you can’t think like that,_ she scolds herself, shutting her eyes tight. _You did everything you could._

But ‘everything she could’ doesn’t seem like enough. She had comforted him in his dying, had held him and told him she loved him, had made plans for the future, had cried very real tears for him. Is that enough? What more could she have done, when she could have left him alone the moment they found themselves back in the entrance of the temple?

Maybe death hadn’t been so frightening for him. After all, death is the only thing to release a Turk from their duty, and Tseng had been carrying so much for so long. Surely death must have felt freeing . . . _welcome_ , even. 

Even if that was what he wanted, Charlie would have dragged him across the world, if it came down to it. She never wanted to leave him. They were supposed to take care of each other. Veld never told them to follow each other into death . . . but _Gods,_ in that moment, she had wanted to. 

She would have dove headfirst into the Lifestream itself to follow him, just so she didn’t have to be left alone without him in the world. 

Aerith must be sleeping, or feigning very well. She doesn’t move, hardly makes a sound, when Charlie sits up on the edge of her bed. She looks down at Aerith’s sleeping figure for a moment, wanting to be out of this bed, out of this room, out of the inn. 

She envies Aerith in that moment. How _dare_ she be able to sleep after everything? How can she stand to _dream_ after seeing Tseng like that? 

Charlie leaves the inn, just needing a breath of fresh air. When she walks around the side of the building, she nearly screams at the sight of Cid standing there, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. 

He laughs when she gasps, clutching as her chest. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “What’re you doin’ out here? Not plannin’ on leavin’ us, are you?”

“No,” she admits, standing beside him and propping herself against the wall, as well. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

“No.”

Cid hums, offering his half-smoked cigarette to her. Charlie looks at it for a moment before taking it, placing it to her lips and inhaling. It goes straight to her head, giving her a rush, and she passes it back. 

“Check you out,” he teases, taking a far bigger hit off the cigarette than she would dare to. “Charlotte Shinra, livin’ her best fuckin’ life.”

It makes her smile, even though it’s the last thing she feels like doing. “When Rufus and I were younger, we used to steal cigarettes from Veld. We’d hang out of Rufus’s bedroom window and smoke them after everyone was asleep.”

“Learn somethin’ new ‘bout you every damn day, kiddo.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll tell you about Veld.”

“Old flame?”

She shakes her head, smiling again. “No, not quite.”

“Then I’d love to hear ‘bout it.”

“Don’t speak too soon. I’ll only bore you.”

“Bore _me?_ ” Cid flicks his cigarette away and wraps an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, holding her close. “Doubt it. Wanna show me ‘round town?”

Charlie frowns, scoffing. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“I ain’t gonna sleep tonight. Let’s check out the old reactor. I got a flashlight.”

“Are you twelve?”

“Scared?” He grins at her, pulling his arm away and reaching into his jacket pocket. “I ain’t. You’ve got a gun. I know you’ll protect me.”

She blushes, but it seems to make Cid happy to see her so flustered. “Okay, fine. We’ll go look at the reactor.”

* * *

Cid finds out pretty quickly that, so long as Charlie is distracted and occupied, she’s relatively okay. 

The moment she’s alone, slipping back into her thoughts, blaming herself for everything . . . that’s when he’ll have to probably drug her up like he did before, just to get her to stop crying and close her eyes for one goddamn minute.

He doesn’t think she’s _really_ okay, but she puts on a good show for him. Her smiles seem more like grimaces as morning approaches, she flinches when he touches her innocently, and her soft laughter is definitely forced. 

By the time the sun begins to rise, Charlie suggests they head back to get in a few hours of sleep before the rest of their party begins to wake. He walks her down the hallway to her own bedroom, and she lingers outside before stepping inside. 

“Listen,” she begins, smiling weakly up at him, “about earlier . . .”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

He grins, shrugging his shoulders. He’s just happy to be here with her, happy that Sephiroth hadn’t struck her down, happy that she escaped the temple with her life. “All right, go on,” he finally tells her. 

“I’m sorry for the situation I put you in,” she continues, looking sorry enough. “I know it must have been very awkward for you. I know that . . . you probably don’t care that he’s dead, but . . . thank you.”

Hearing it spoken out loud like that makes Cid cringe. Does he seem so cold to her? He’d tried to be considerate, hadn’t spoken a word against the Turk. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says again.

She offers him another small smile. And then, she rests one of her hands on the side of his face, standing on her toes to touch her lips softly to his cheek. Cid stutters for a moment, his cheek burning where she’s kissed him. 

Charlie doesn’t look entirely like she regrets it, but she opens the door before he can ask her if she’s drunk. “Good-night, Cid,” she whispers, slipping inside. 

The moment the door closes behind her, Cid nearly runs down the hallway, so full of energy that he could easily go another twenty-four hours without sleep. He punches the air, trying to keep quiet as he celebrates his little victory among the crushing defeat they’d suffered earlier at the temple. 

“ _Cid!_ ”

He tenses at the sound of her voice coming from behind him. Flushing all over his fucking body, he whirls around, expecting to find her laughing at him. Charlie runs up to him with round and horrified-looking eyes, nearly throwing herself at him. 

“What?” Cid asks, and her fingertips dig painfully into his forearms. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Aerith’s gone!”


	51. Chapter 51

Charlie always liked the city at night. 

Sometimes, she and Rufus used to sit in their father’s office at night, watching the city flicker to life one light at a time, until the entire cityscape was glowing like fireflies. She liked to look out of Reeve’s window and see the theater lights blink and flash as the sun went down. She liked sleeping with her curtains open, the dim glow of the city helping put her to sleep. She liked sitting on the balcony of her favorite restaurant, overlooking Sector Eight in all of its theatrical and dramatic glory. 

He still remembers the last time he had taken her there, just the two of them, and with the city as the backdrop, he remembers how beautiful she had looked, smiling at him like she was, in the moment, perfectly at peace. The breeze had stirred her hair, and the wine had given her cheeks some color, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. 

He remembers bringing her back into the restaurant to dance with him, and the way she had rested her cheek against his shoulder, the casual and graceful way they had moved together as if their bodies were one and the same, and how choked up he had gotten when she smiled against his neck. 

She had touched him in ways that no one had _ever_ touched him before, and not necessarily in a vulgar way. The way she would trace lazy patterns on his skin with her fingertips, or comb her fingers through the back of his hair, or play distractedly with his fingers while they were taking a private car home together. 

He remembers taking her back to a penthouse hotel suite later that night, sweet-talking her out of her dress until she stood before him in nothing but her lingerie, a porcelain doll, and he had immediately dropped to his knees in front of her and pressed tender kisses to the smooth, taut skin of her belly. 

Her fingers had been tangled in his hair, and he had rested his chin against her stomach to look up at her, completely smitten and at her mercy, the city lights from the wide window behind her making her skin look golden in the dark apartment. 

“I love you,” he had told her, words reserved for her and her alone, words he had never spoken and never would speak to anyone else. He can’t think of anyone more deserving of those words, of his love and affection. 

She had fallen to her own knees, wrapped him in her arms, kissed his forehead. What sticks out most about the memory is how overwhelmed and childish he had felt after such a simple gesture, clinging to his sister.

“I love you, too,” she had told him in return, kissing him so tenderly, so lovingly, so softly. 

They had only been children at the time, hardly more than legal adults, more concerned about spending time with each other than learning how to run the company. What were ledgers compared to the feel of his sister’s skin beneath his hands? What were board meetings compared to the way his heart palpitated at the feeling of her lips on his face?

Without Charlie here, Rufus doesn’t think he cares much for Midgar.

There’s a particular smell he dislikes about the city, and there’s never any peace or quiet with the reactors humming and all the damn traffic. Where do people have to be so urgently anyway? Why are people still speeding down the expressway at ten o’clock at night? 

There’s a lot of wind, as well, and it’s not the cool breeze off the beach at Costa del Sol. It’s cold wind off the coast, lifting his hair off his forehead, causing his suit to ruffle slightly. It isn’t so bad down below, where the buildings block most of it, but up here, seventy tall stories above the plate . . .

Everything seems so small from up here.

He doesn’t think his father ever took the time to look out at his city from this vantage point. Father didn’t care about Midgar, or any of its people. He cared about making something greater than was ever made, only cared about how much profit could be sucked from something before moving onto the next project, commodifying whatever he could to keep his pockets full of gold and his children fed. 

He wasn’t the kind of sentimental man to stand at the edge of the helipad and really consider things, like his life. Surely Father didn’t have a single regret in his entire life. He never fully trusted anyone, so no one could betray him. He refused to let himself love anyone, so no one could cloud his judgement or break his heart. He believed the worst of everyone, so he was never disappointed. 

_Shame on me,_ Rufus thinks bitterly, looking down, feeling slightly nauseous, but that could just be the alcohol he drank. He isn’t sure if it’s the height that’s making him dizzy, or if it’s because he’s drunk. _A lesson I scorned. Now look at me._

Charlie gone, Tseng gone. His only friends. Friends that loved each other far more than either of them loved _him_. Tseng never flinched when Charlie accidentally brushed against him. Charlie was never afraid to talk to Tseng about other men, never looked at Tseng with fear in her eyes. 

“Mr. President!” 

He startles, nearly slipping right off the edge, the wind jerking him around. His breath hitches at the idea of falling all the way down to the bottom, putting an end to all of this folly and leaving behind a disaster for his sister to clean up after, just as Father did to him. 

“ _Rufus!_ ”

Regaining his balance, Rufus turns to find Reeve running towards him, looking wide-eyed and panicked. Rufus scowls, embarrassed to be caught in such a position, and by his sister’s own boyfriend, no less. “Do you need something, Director?” 

Reeve frowns, a crease appearing between dark eyebrows. “I just . . . wanted to come see what you were doing out here by yourself,” he says quickly, looking around for a sign of anyone else, “and maybe bring you back inside, away from the edge of the building.”

He scrunches his nose, feeling thirteen again with a Turk dogging his every step, feigning concern over President Shinra’s fragile son. “Worried about me?”

Reeve inhales deeply, raising an eyebrow. Surely the director understands Rufus more than he cares to admit. After all, Charlie has likely been whispering into his ear about her little brother for years now. 

“It would not do Midgar any good to have Shinra’s new president lying broken on the sidewalk for the city to see when the sun comes up tomorrow.”

Rufus snorts. It would take an extraordinary amount of courage to fling himself from the building, courage that he doesn’t quite have right now. But it would be so easy to fall, to stumble, to step just the wrong way.

“I’ve been the president for the matter of a few weeks, and in that time, I’ve managed to frighten my sister away and have my best and closest ally killed. Without Charlie, I lack my only compassionate advisor. Without Tseng, I lack my authoritative one.” 

“Which one am I, if I may ask?”

Rufus is surprised that Reeve has asked at all, but decides to continue the conversation, just to keep from feeling lonely for a few more minutes. “The back-up advisor, should Charlie be unavailable. My bleeding-heart advisor,” he answers, and to his even greater surprise, Reeve smiles, as if that’s something he should be proud of. “Is that agreeable?”

“I have no complaints, sir. I suppose being the back-up is better than most other options.”

“Just so you know, pitted against the other directors, I would put a small amount of money on you.” Rufus takes a single step away from the edge. “Even though Scarlet would tear you apart in seconds, if given the chance.”

Reeve chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as if at a loss. He must know it’s true. For a moment, as Rufus looks at him, all he can think about is a plethora of opportunities. 

If he _really_ wanted Charlie back, all he would have to do is hold Reeve hostage and have Cait Sith communicate that to her. If he _really_ wanted to show Charlie who was in control, all he would have to do is have some Turk drag Reeve down to the slums and kill him. Surely that would have her racing back to Midgar within the hour. 

Rufus clears his throat, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He doesn’t want to resort to that. He doesn’t want to resort to killing the man Charlie loves so much, doesn’t want to resort to begging for her forgiveness when she eventually resents him for using Reeve like Father would. 

Besides, he’s the only person who had come out here to check on him, the only person who seems to care about Rufus’s well-being within the entire city. 

“Where do you go, Reeve?” Rufus asks, watching Reeve’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “When you leave the city, where are you going?”

“I’ve been renting a space in Kalm,” Reeve answers with a small smile. “I think I grow less fond of Midgar every day.”

Rufus snorts again. “Perhaps we _do_ share some things in common.”

_Charlie has kissed us both, touched us both, loved us both._

Perhaps Reeve picks up on this. Something seems to change in his face, a flicker of understanding. “Perhaps.”

* * *

No one can explain how Aerith managed to get so far all alone, least of all Charlie. 

_It’s my fault,_ she can’t help but think. _I shouldn’t have left the room at the inn. I should have stayed with her._

Barret blames her, too, but not for any real logical reason. Tifa has to talk him down several times as they sit cramped together on the wings of the _Tiny Bronco_ , but Charlie doesn’t mind. If it makes him feel better, blaming her, then she won’t stop him, nor will she stop anyone else who joins in with him (mostly Yuffie, who doesn’t really listen to Tifa when she tries to stop them). 

Charlie tries to sit far away from the rest of them on their journey. The first day is the longest, and after Cid nearly loses his mind over all the arguing going on, he beaches the plane and orders them all to make camp so he can go smoke a few cigarettes and get the hell away from them all.

Despite Barret’s long-winded rants about Shinra’s being the bane of society, he still shows Charlie how to start a fire without certain materials that night. She supposes there’s something paternal and patient about him during teaching moments like this, probably used to interacting with his young daughter. 

He even gives her a pat on the shoulder with his one big hand once she gets the fire lit, though it promptly goes out with the first gust of wind, and Barret takes over in the end. 

“Maybe you’re not so useless after all, Shinra,” he muses, blowing at the base of their pile of sticks and bark. “Pretty impressive. Can you cook dinner?”

Charlie blushes. She never learned basic household skills, always having someone else do them for her. “No. I don’t know how to cook.”

“Thought so. Tifa can teach you that.” Barret gets the fire going and fans the flames. He’s good at it, even with one hand. Vincent has gone out to hunt for some game, an easy task for a sharpshooter like himself. “If we get the choice, you want light or dark meat tonight, Miss VP?”

Charlie smiles slightly. She’s never been asked for her preference. She’s just eaten whatever she’s been given. “Dark, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Barret looks up at her and smiles. He looks kinder without his sunglasses, far more friendlier. She doesn’t like not being able to see his eyes. “Why don’t you go see if there’s some fish swimmin’ round over there? Think your boy’s already started without you.”

Charlie turns to look at where Barret points with his chin, still tending the fire.

Cid is already wading in the river, a net in his hand, his shirt off and a cigarette pinched between his thin lips. Charlie looks for a little too long before turning back to Barret. “Oh,” she laughs nervously, her heart still beating rather fast from seeing Cid shirtless. “He’s not my—”

“Get goin’,” Barret tells her gruffly, “don’t need you here anymore.”

Not wanting to bother him too much, Charlie approaches Cid, kneeling at the riverbank. He looks happy to see her, covered in water droplets and hard at work. 

“See somethin’ you like, Lottie?”

She blushes furiously, eyes roving his chest and stomach, wanting to reach out and trace the lines and scars on his stomach, to feel the hard muscle underneath her fingers. In the middle of this horrifying revelation, Charlie feels a pang of guilt when she remembers Reeve, and the way his warm skin felt underneath her hand. 

_I’m just lonely,_ she tells herself. _I don’t really love him. I just miss Reeve._

Charlie blinks stupidly, chastising herself. _Wait, love? Who said I love him?_

“I was just wondering if you need some help,” she says after a minute.

He smiles up at her, flicking his cigarette behind him, right into the water so the current takes it away. “Go relax, honey. Put your feet up. I’m almost done here.”

“Oh, all right.” Charlie stands and brushes off her dirty knees. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

She purses her lips, sighing heavily. “I can’t help anyone. I’m useless.”

Cid cocks an eyebrow, moving slowly over to the riverbank and bracing himself against the mud with his free hand, the current pushing against his abdomen. “I didn’t mean that,” he tells her, almost sounding apologetic, “I just meant . . . well, if you wanna help, I guess you can. Come on in, kiddo, I’ll show you how it’s done. Take your shoes off.”

Charlie does as he says, removing her boots and socks, choosing to leave her t-shirt and pants on. When she slides down the bank and into the water, she gasps, not having expected water so damn cold. 

It makes Cid laugh, however, and he takes her by the arm and leads her to the middle of the narrow river. “Stand in front of me ‘fore the current takes you and I never see you again,” he instructs her, and Charlie can feel the warmth radiating off his chest, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Something slippery brushes against her ankle and she jerks around wildly in the water, shrieking and turning around to face him, being held against him, flushing and flustered and anxious. “Something touched my foot!”

He tilts his head back and laughs hard again. “It was probably just a fish. You’re scarin’ ‘em all away with your flappin’. Turn around, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He doesn’t ask her to do much, but he does wrap an arm around her waist to make sure the current doesn’t take her, reaching down with the net every so often to catch a silvery fish, tossing it onto the grass where it flops and dies, and then repeating the process. 

And all the while, Charlie feels like she’s drowning, only able to focus on the strong arm wrapped around her, holding her to the front of his body. It’s like he doesn’t even notice they’re touching, going about his work with a twisted look to his face, like he’s desperate for a cigarette. 

“Doin’ okay?” he asks after a little while of this, like she hasn’t been just standing and watching him. 

“Yeah,” she manages to choke out, resting one of her hands upon his corded forearm, wrapping fingers around the bulk of his muscle. And then, remembering where they are and what’s going on, she quickly pulls her hand away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he answers casually. “You can touch me if you want.”

She flushes, glad her back is to him. “Is that an invitation?”

“That’s whatever you want it to be, princess.”

She’s so overwhelmed that she almost cries, and she quickly makes some excuse to put as much distance between them as possible, terribly embarrassed and very angry at herself. Cid seems to expect this, and hides his disappointment (if he’s disappointed at all) very well, finishing his fishing before bringing it all over to Barret and Tifa, who are waiting around the fire. 

It’s only after a quiet dinner that Charlie excuses herself from camp, making to sit down upon the wing of the _Tiny Bronco_ and listen to the rushing water and looking up at the night sky. Without Aerith here, no one really seems in the mood to laugh or joke around or smile, and Charlie can’t bear sitting in silence with them all for longer than she has to.

It isn’t long before she’s disturbed. It’s hard to find alone time when she’s traveling with so many people, but it’s only Cait Sith, and Charlie doesn’t quite mind the cat’s company right now. He sits down beside her, so small and skinny, an odd sight without his fluffy companion. 

They both are quiet for a while, but then Charlie inhales deeply and glances sideways at him. She’s just going to say it. She’s just going to get it out there and get it over with.

“So . . .” she begins slowly, chewing on her lower lip. “You work for Shinra, huh?”

She’s certain that Cait Sith is very much regretting following her over to the airplane. “Yep.”

“So I probably know who you are?”

“Probably.”

Charlie traces her teeth with her tongue. Cait Sith looks out across the river, at the open land on the other side. “You’re not going to tell me your name?” she asks, growing frustrated at this little game. She’s in no mood for games right now. “You’re not going to tell your own vice president who you are?”

“I’m no one important,” Cait Sith answers, sounding slightly bitter. “What does it matter to you?”

This gives her pause. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Her palms are clammy. She curls her hands into fists and rests them in her lap. “You won’t tell me your name, but if I guess correctly, will you let me know if I’m right?”

They both look at each other for a long moment. The fact that Cait Sith doesn’t give her an answer is answer enough, and Charlie feels tears well up in her eyes as he whispers slowly, in _his_ voice, “Charlotte, I am _so_ sorry.”

She grimaces, wiping at her tears with her sleeve. “Me too.” 

She can’t even bring herself to look at him again. How can she take him seriously, talking through a thing like that? Talking with that voice, a voice that surely isn’t his own, a voice that she had come to find comfort in along their journey.

“You were spying on me this whole time.”

“No,” Cait Sith says quickly—no, Reeve—no, he’s speaking in that voice again, in Cait Sith’s voice—but it’s Reeve’s thoughts and words and feelings, right?—how much has she divulged to this _thing?_ “Not spying on _you_ , no, no—”

“Cid told me what you did,” she hisses, glad they’re far enough away from camp that no one will overhear them. Charlie doesn’t even have time to register the absurd situation she’s found herself in. “You kidnapped a _little girl_ —”

“No, please, let me explain—”

“Explain what? Explain how you’ve been following me around for weeks? Explain how you’re the reason that I was put in that cell? Explain how you’re the reason Tseng is _dead_ —”

“ _I’m_ the reason Tseng is—!” Cait Sith holds his face in his hands and groans, clearly taking great pains to remain quiet. Even in the cat’s unusual accent, his speech pattern is terribly altered, and it sounds strange to hear him speak in such a refined manner. “You realize that this is madness, don’t you? What do you think you’re going to accomplish with these people?”

“I don’t think I’m obligated to share _my_ reasons with _you_ —”

“You’re still the vice president, you know, and you’re going to have to return to Midgar eventually—”

“I’m not going back—”

“Then where do you intend to go?” Cait Sith asks sharply, and Charlie glances towards the campfire, where no one seems alerted to trouble, lounging around and basking in the warmth. “Do you plan to follow them to the ends of the planet? Into death? Prolonging your return will only make it more difficult for you—”

“I cannot _believe_ you—”

“ _Me?_ ” he scoffs. “I’m the one whose had to watch you throw yourself at Cid ever since leaving Rocket Town—”

“I have not been _throwing_ myself at him—”

“All right, listen, listen, listen—” Cait Sith waves his hands in front of her, shushing her. Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and her temper suddenly flares, but she doesn’t interrupt. “I’m not here to spy on _you_. Rufus sent me to infiltrate Avalanche—”

“ _Rufus_ sent you? He ordered this?” Charlie feels more hurt than angry at this confession. “He knew the whole time about this? Was I . . . was I the only one who didn’t know?”

“Charlotte—”

“All those things that you said about the Turks and about Rufus . . . and you would have gone on watching my every movement through a _toy_ —”

“You have to understand the situation—I didn’t want you to be involved in—”

“I thought you were different.” Unable to think of another coherent thought, Charlie stands up, focusing on not slipping off the wing. “I loved you because you were different from everyone else, and you’re _just_ like them.”

“Nothing stopped you from loving your brother and your Turks—”

“I wasn’t going to marry any of _them!_ ” she whisper-shouts, wanting to scream scream scream _scream._ “You think I don’t know what they are? You think I didn’t know the kind of man Tseng was? The kind of men Reno and Rude are? You think I didn’t know the kinds of terrible things _Veld_ had done?”

“Charlotte—” It’s Reeve’s voice again, and Cait Sith’s mouth doesn’t move with his words—“ _please_ come home. If you come home on your own terms, Rufus may be more willing to make a compromise and move quietly past the whole thing.”

“Is that what he told you to tell me?”

“He didn’t tell me to do anything other than gather information.”

“What do you expect me to do if I go back to Midgar?” Charlie asks him, very seriously. “What is left there for me? You know as well as I do that the minute I’m with Rufus again, I . . .” She blushes, looking away from him. “I can’t. I can’t go back to the company. I’m sorry.”

She sighs, wanting to throw up over the side of the wing. 

“Come back to Midgar, Charlie. Please don’t make me beg anymore. I want you to come home.”

Charlie wraps her arms around herself. She’s glad that she’s looking down at a toy cat, because if she was arguing face-to-face with Reeve, she doesn’t know that she could do it without breaking down into sobs. She gives her a head a slight shake, suddenly very cold. 

“I’m not ready to go back,” she admits after a long two minutes passes in total silence. “I can’t. I’m not fit to be the vice president, and I’m not fit to . . . be with anybody.”

Cait Sith stands, as well, his normal voice back. “You can’t tell anyone who I am.”

“Why not?” Charlie scoffs. 

“Because they might think you were in on it, of course,” he says, climbing towards the tail of the plane. “You and Barret have come too far now for me to go in and mess things all up.”

He’s trying to be friendly and casual again. Charlie knows that he’s probably right, that the best thing to do would be to pretend this night never even happened. If she tells someone that Reeve—the man she was supposed to marry—has been watching them and feeding Shinra information the entire time, it will look far too suspicious. 

“Charlie, you realize this is very likely a suicide mission, don’t you?”

She smiles sadly at him. “I know.” Before jumping off the plane, she brushes herself off. “It’s okay, though. I’ve made my peace.”

* * *

“So, I think I know where I want you to take me when this is all over.”

“Oh? And where’s that?” Cid doesn’t even open his eyes. He’s exhausted from sailing his _Tiny Bronco_ around all day, now leaning against a flat rock and trying to keep from falling asleep in the middle of their conversation, but the warmth from the fire is too much. 

“Cosmo Canyon,” she answers, sounding just as tired. 

“What the hell’s in Cosmo Canyon?”

“My mother is buried there.”

Cid’s eyes snap open and he sits up. “Shit, sorry, Lottie. I didn’t know.”

She narrows her eyes at him, smiling. “You didn’t say anything wrong.” 

Charlie is sitting beside Vincent ( _of course she would be pushing herself on some ex-Shinra stranger that was found in some Shinra basement_ ), knees pulled up to her chest. At least she isn’t chatting up that goddamn Shinra spy anymore, who gave her up to the Turks in the first place. 

Most of their party has gone to bed already, except for those that choose not to sleep in the two tents. Tifa and Yuffie had gone first, and the rest had followed, leaving Vincent, Cid, Charlie, and Cait Sith outside, though the cat seems to be deactivated for the night, slumped over atop the moogle. 

When asked why she didn’t sleep in the tent with the other girls, Charlie had told him that she enjoyed sleeping under the stars. Cid doesn’t deny that it’s probably very true she enjoys it, but the other part of him thinks that she probably doesn’t think she belongs in a secondhand tent with women she sees as below her. 

“Vincent,” she says suddenly, and he hums in response. “Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?”

Cid scoffs, attracting their attention. He blushes with both of their intense gazes fixed right on his face. 

“Is there something you’d like to say, Cid?” Charlie asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Think I can’t shoot a gun?”

“ _No!_ I didn’t say that,” Cid snaps, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on the rock to close his eyes again, forced to listen to Charlie and Vincent continue their quiet conversation. 

“When we have the time, yes,” is Vincent’s answer. 

His second scoff seems to go unnoticed by either of them, and their voices get even lower until Cid can’t hear a fucking word they’re saying. He places an arm underneath his head, turning his back on them. 

Charlie could have asked _him._

* * *

Ever since Vincent agreed to Charlie’s offer, it’s all she wants to do. 

Every time they beach the _Tiny Bronco_ to eat, to piss, to shit, to regroup, to stretch their legs, to get a fire going for the night, Charlie and Vincent take the small amount of time to practice shooting, though it’s more theory than anything with a significant lack of ammunition lying around. 

And they fucking talk _all the time._ Or rather, Charlie talks a whole hell of a lot while Vincent listens and sometimes asks pointed follow-up questions. Cid doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, but whatever they talk about, it’s done in those low voices so no one can overhear them. 

It infuriates him, especially because Vincent doesn’t talk _half_ so much to anyone else, which ends up pissing Yuffie off, as well. 

“She’s _so_ annoying,” Yuffie complains to him one day, watching through the foliage as Vincent helps Charlie line up her shot. Cid’s genuinely surprised that she’s learning so quickly, considering how little time they’ve been working at it. “I mean, what’s so great about _her_ anyway?”

“The hell do you know ‘bout her?” Cid asks, seeing no reason as to why Yuffie might hate her so much. He thinks Charlie has more than proved herself a different breed than her father or brother. “The two of you have more in common than you might think.”

“Oh yeah, old man?” Yuffie scrunches her nose, seeming offended by the mere notion of it. “Like what?”

“Well, you’re both the bratty daughters of some pretty powerful people. Rebelling against her daddy’s kinda her shtick, you know.”

“Whatever.” She sticks her tongue out at Cid. “I don’t trust the word of someone who’s got his entire head and shoulders up her ass.”

“The _fuck_ did you just say to me!” She’s already sprinting away from him by the time he pushes himself to his feet. “You little _brat!_ ”

* * *

He’s going crazy. 

His face is horribly sunburnt from the sun reflecting up off the water and into his face all day, he wants to stand for longer than ten minutes at a time, he wants Aerith to come back so they can move the fuck on, and whenever Charlie and Vincent go off into some secluded spot to work on her shooting, his imagination fucks him over. 

Tifa seems to notice that something’s off with him, and tries to ask about it one night. He doesn’t feel much like talking about how Charlie’s making him look like a damn fool, but she’s too nice for Cid to shoo her away without an explanation. 

“I know it’s hard without Aerith here . . .” Tifa begins. “But I know we’ll find her soon. We’re almost there.”

“Yeah,” Cid grunts, glad for something else to blame his shifting moods on, “Aerith.”

Charlie looks up at him from over the fire at the sound of Aerith’s name, dragging the tips of her fingers lightly down Nanaki’s spine as he sleeps. 

Meeting his own eyes, she quickly looks away, but there’s something about her expression that makes his stomach twist . . . something that makes her look younger, like she’s just seen him come back from the forest with a young and pretty Turk . . .

* * *

“She any good with a gun? All that goddamn practice lately must be helpin’ some.”

“She’s a quick learner,” Vincent says, sitting down on the ground beside him, unfastening the cloak around his shoulders and letting it fall to the dusty ground. “And she’s an interesting girl.”

“She’s a goddamn genius, you know. Certified and everything.”

“She didn’t mention it.”

“Yeah, well . . . you know . . .” Cid shrugs, feeling rather resentful of Vincent. He’s been taking up all of Charlie’s time lately, leaving the two of them little privacy once he parks the _Tiny Bronco_ for the night. “Thought it might’a come up at least once between you two and all those fuckin’ gossip sessions you’ve been havin’.”

Even now, Charlie is fast asleep in the arms of Cait Sith’s moogle with Nanaki curled up at her side. It’s the goddamn picture of peace. It’s kinda cute, but he wouldn’t just admit that outright. He’d rather she was awake, talking to him, curled up at _his_ side. 

“You’re an idiot.”

Cid turns to face Vincent, blinking stupidly in his pale face. “You wanna say that again, jackass?”

A smile tugs at the corners of Vincent’s lips, but only for a moment. He might just be imagining things. “I was Veld’s partner before . . . I went to sleep,” he says slowly, looking back at Charlie. 

_Veld._ Charlie had mentioned him back in Gongaga, and he’s pretty sure she was being serious about him not being an old flame. It’s impossible to know for sure, of course. Sometimes she’s too good of a liar, and he lacks the courage to call her out on it for fear of being wrong. 

He knows he shouldn’t ask. He should wait to hear it from Charlie’s mouth instead of Vincent’s, but he’s too goddamn curious. “Who was Veld?”

“If she hasn’t told you,” Vincent replies, “then perhaps I shouldn’t say anything either.”

“What good are you, huh?” Cid huffs, lighting a cigarette and taking a long pull off it. “Can’t even give me a fuckin’ clue.”

Vincent sighs, lifting a single eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather hear it from her?”

Cid bites at his inner lip, letting his cigarette burn for a moment. No one’s complained yet about his cigarette smoke (except for Yuffie, but he doesn’t really give a damn what _she_ thinks about anything), but he’s already made the decision to not quit no matter what. 

Well, maybe if Charlie asked nicely. Even then, there’d be a lot of complaining. 

“She just came out and . . . told you all that stuff?” Cid asks, feeling slightly hurt. When was the last time someone had hurt his feelings? When was the last time a _woman_ hurt his feelings? “Just like that?”

“She talks a lot.”

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

* * *

Ever since their horrible conversation, Charlie avoids talking to him as much as she can. 

She avoids talking to everyone, really, except for Vincent. Reeve won’t deny that it feels like a slap in the face when they go off to shoot together, and Cid complains one night about how Charlie refuses to tell him anything, saving her head full of thoughts for times when she’s with Vincent.

Of course she would share anything and everything with someone that had not only been an ex-Turk, but Veld’s partner. With her believing Tseng dead, Vincent may very well be the last tie she truly has to someone she loved very much (save for himself, but Charlie has never been willing to speak about Veld at length with him).

He feels guilty, of course, but had decided not to tell Charlie the truth in the end. He knows that it will likely cause problems in the future, but for now, with Tseng on the mend and hidden in a hospital in the middle of Junon, Reeve thinks it’s best to keep his status a secret. 

Charlie had tried to cross the world to get to him once before, and if she knew that Tseng was lying in a hospital bed, alive, Reeve doesn’t doubt she would drop everything to find him. 

And if Rufus found out he was lying . . . if Rufus found out that his closest ally wasn’t dead after all . . . it won’t be pretty, and if he knew that Charlie was in on the secret, she’d be in trouble. 

What had frightened him most was the parting words she had left with him. _It’s okay, though. I’ve made my peace._ It makes him think that her mission alongside Avalanche isn’t so much to do good and save the world, but more the means to an end, a way for her to die knowing that she did so heroically. 

It’s tragic, truthfully, to see what the world has done to her. Perhaps most of the blame can be placed upon her dead father’s shoulders, as his own daughter is a result of abuse in every sense of the word, as well as a complete disregard for her feelings, accomplishments, and dreams. 

He remembers seeing Rufus, just the other night, standing on the edge of the topmost floor of the Shinra Building, smelling slightly of whiskey. Reeve isn’t really certain whether or not he meant to fling himself off the side, but it had frightened him all the same. 

“It’s very fitting,” comes Tseng’s hoarse voice, and Reeve looks up from his laptop to find him stirring in his hospital bed, fidgeting restlessly, “that you would be seated at my side in Charlotte’s stead.”

“She would be here, I’m sure, if she knew you were alive.”

“The others?”

“It’s chaotic, but Reno has stepped up.”

“As is his duty.” Seemingly pleased with this vague report, Tseng closes his eyes again. “How long have you been in contact with Veld?”

Reeve sighs. “The entire time.”

“Charlotte will hate you for it.”

“I’m sure she will.”

“Where are they now?”

“Bone Village,” Reeve replies, not at all hesitant about telling him the truth. It’s not like Tseng is able to do much from his hospital bed, especially not without outside contacts who are aware that he’s here. 

He explains the chain of events regarding the Temple of the Ancients, and relays the news that Aerith is missing, headed north towards a place called the City of the Ancients. 

“It’s only a matter of time until Sephiroth—” Reeve is cut off by the ringing of his phone. He digs it out of his pocket to find it’s not _that_ phone, but his other one, reserved for emergency calls between himself and Elmyra. 

“A burner phone?” Tseng says, laughing softly and turning his head away, towards the window. “I wonder what secrets you’re keeping, Director.”

Reeve scowls, but Tseng isn’t looking. He slips outside the room before answering the call. “Hey, is everything all right?”

“ _Oh, everything is fine. I’m so sorry to bother you, Director, but the first interview today is in an hour, and Marlene wanted to know if you were still coming._ ”

_Shit, shit, shit, shit_ , he thinks to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had forgotten all about the half-hearted promise he made to Marlene about helping her interview new prospects for potential tutors. 

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to tell her—” He stops abruptly, looking around. He does have a lot of work to do, and several meetings later tonight. He was planning on staying in Junon until then, tired of all the traveling. 

_Gods, don’t you ever learn?_ He wants to kick himself. Isn’t this exactly what he’d done to Charlie? 

“ _If this isn’t a good time, Director_ —”

“No,” he answers, “no, no, no, it’s fine. Um—” Reeve looks down at his watch. He’ll never make it in time for the first interview, even taking a helicopter, but he could be there for the second one. “Tell her I’m running a little late, but I should make it just in time for the second interview.”

“ _Oh, please, don’t let it trouble you. I know you must have such a busy sch_ —”

“No, no, truly, it’s all right. I _did_ promise her.”

“ _Well, I appreciate it. We’ll handle the first interview._ ”

Before leaving the hospital, he quickly apologizes to Tseng for having to leave so quickly, but the Turk doesn’t really seem broken up about it. 

Reeve almost wonders if it would be worth telling Tseng about Elmyra and Marlene, just to see if he would have done the same in his place, but he leaves before he works up the courage. He doesn’t really think he’d want to know the answer anyway. 


	52. Chapter 52

Bone Village is not really a village, but a camp full of independent excavators who have spent months living in tents and crude shelters formed by fossils too big to remove from the ground completely. 

They’re pleased to have visitors, and especially pleased to learn that Charlotte Shinra is with them. In exchange for the resources to find the ‘Lunar Harp’ necessary to follow Aerith through the Sleeping Forest, room and board for the night while those men dig around, and a hot dinner, Charlotte spends a few minutes in a tent with the leader of the group, discussing the possibility for an investment into their little community.

With Vincent standing over her right shoulder as she sits at the end of a long dining table, Charlie almost feels like a proper vice president again with her black-clad entourage. 

When given time to consider it, Charlie pulls Cait Sith aside and discusses the opportunity. It’s the first time she’s spoken privately to him since their conversation on the _Tiny Bronco._ “They only want fifty-thousand gil for more resources and men,” she whispers to him, shrugging her shoulders. “I think that’s agreeable.”

“What should I do?”

“Just see to it that the money is sent _somehow_ ,” Charlie decides. It’s not like she has much else to spend her money on. “But call my accountant, and have him do it. He’ll know which account to send it from.”

There’s a moment’s pause. “Charlotte, are you embezzling money from the company?”

She shrugs coyly, smiling at him. “I wouldn’t call taking a few hundred gil here and there _embezzling_. I’m only taking back what I’m owed. Consider it . . . reparations for the damage my father caused me.” She wipes the smile off her face, all business again. “Make sure that the money comes from _me_ , not the company. I don’t want Rufus to cancel the transaction, and I don’t want him to know that I’m funding this.”

“Yes, ma’am, right away,” Cait Sith replies, saluting her. She looks at him for a few long seconds. She’s not really sure when Reeve is present or not, but she hopes that it’s _him_ she’s talking to, and not Cait Sith. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s everything. Thank you.”

Cloud is anxious to get going, but the excavators assure him that, without the Lunar Harp, they won’t be able to pass through the Sleeping Forest at all. 

In exchange for the vice president’s gratitude, they also offer up a private tent for the party, which is certainly big enough for them all to sleep comfortably, but Charlie still isn’t comfortable sleeping in such close confines with everyone. 

There’s a fire pit in the center, the smoke filtering through a hole in the canvas ceiling. It’s stiflingly warm inside, and everyone is setting up makeshift beds made of blankets and clothing and bags, splitting off into clusters. 

Tifa and Yuffie decide to share the only bed, and Cait Sith deactivates for the night outside the tent entrance, which she’s grateful for. 

She feels dirty, and used, and horribly ashamed of herself, left wondering what she might have told Cait Sith that she didn’t want Reeve to know. 

It’s one thing to be aware she’s being spied on. The Turks have never been particularly discreet about their duty to her, but it’s not like she had anything to hide from the people who already knew everything about her. The only time it made her really angry was when they intervened on behalf of her brother.

Even then, at least Tseng intervened quietly. Reno was never afraid to get in her face if he felt she deserved it. Everything Reno did was always to get a rise out of her. 

But to not know that she’s being spied on—by _Reeve_ , of all people—is completely different. She feels completely violated, laid bare in her most vulnerable state for him to observe her, unable to stop it, unable to take back anything she’s unwittingly given Cait Sith.

Charlie settles in a corner of the tent, far from the fire, but still able to feel the sweltering heat of the flames. Too afraid of using the communal toilets, she had been forced to rely on the surrounding area for privacy to go about her business and change clumsily into sleeping clothes, and now her legs are beginning to itch, her skin blistering with the beginnings of a rash from some stupid poison leaves she must have touched. 

All she wants to do is cry, but she can’t.

Crying needs to be reserved for behind closed doors, for spare moments when there’s no one around to witness your weakness. 

At least, that’s what Father used to say when her seven-year-old self had burst into tears at the Shinra Building one day, after her father had given Heidegger an order to have several wounded guard dogs put down without even batting an eye. She had embarrassed herself and Father, he had told her afterwards, but she hadn’t stopped crying.

Charlie remembers the day after that, as well, because all the wounded pups were still alive and being treated by the best professionals in the city. All of them had survived. 

She hasn’t really adhered to that rule as much as the others, but crying in front of people she’s comfortable with isn’t quite the same as baring her soul with sobs to a group of people that are still sometimes indifferent towards her. 

It’s not like she can sleep outside tonight. It’s too cold this far north, and she doesn’t have enough warm clothing to get her through the night without a fire. 

_Why is this so hard for me?_ she asks herself, settling down onto the smallest blanket Barret had to offer and using her backpack as a pillow. _I’ve slept with other people before. I shared a bed with Aerith a few times, I slept with Cissnei sometimes, and I shared a bed with Tseng._

That was different, though. Aerith had been a comforting presence when it was just the two of them, Cissnei had been her friend, and Tseng was someone she had known for half her life. 

Cid has chosen an empty space close to the fire to sleep, clad only in some sweatpants and a sleeveless undershirt, his eyes already closed and one thick arm resting across his stomach. 

Part of her thinks she might be okay sleeping next to Cid. 

Charlie glances towards the entrance and finds Vincent propped against a sofa that’s occupied by Nanaki. She and Vincent meet eyes for a split second, and she blushes furiously, rolling over and sighing. 

She doesn’t think she would mind sleeping near Vincent either, but only because it feels like he carries a piece of Veld within him. 

Truthfully, she’s been enjoying their shooting lessons very much. He’s a very methodical teacher, not very hands-on, but certainly knowledgeable. They haven’t been able to do much actual shooting, given that ammo is scarce lately, but Charlie is able to pass much of the time by telling stories about Veld, talking to her heart’s content while he listens on in silence, sometimes offering something _she_ would call laughter, but _he_ calls a scoff.

She wants to sleep next to Reeve—not Cait Sith, but _Reeve._

She misses him, and she misses Rufus. The two people she positively _hates_ right now. 

Charlie must be exhausted, because she falls asleep quickly that night. It’s been a long few days of travel, and the excavators had given them a hot, rich meal that made her bloat. 

But she wakes abruptly in the middle of the night, half-remembered dreams slipping away before she remembers where she is at all. 

One thing is for certain—Cid isn’t in the tent anymore. The space by the dying fire is empty again and, upon hearing everyone breathing and snoring, she decides to go find him. 

When Charlie exits the tent, she’s met with a blast of cold air, sending shivers down her spine. Her legs are red and uncovered with the shorts she’s wearing, but at least she’s put her jacket on, though it offers only a little protection. 

“Going somewhere?”

Charlie nearly faints right there, hearing the hoarse voice coming from just behind her. Shaking all over, she turns to find Vincent standing against a hard-packed dirt wall a few feet from the tent entrance where Cait Sith is hunched over. She hadn’t even noticed he was missing from inside. 

Clutching her chest and wheezing, she smiles awkwardly at him, though she’s sure it’s impossible to see it from where he’s standing in the shadows. 

“I just—I wasn’t leaving, I—I just had to go—”

Vincent points towards the opposite end of the dig site with his golden gauntlet. “He went that way.”

Charlie feels herself relax. “Thank you,” she whispers, hurrying off in the direction he indicated. 

It’s quite easy to follow the smell of cigarette smoke. She has to climb a ladder, circle around another tent, and she finds him sitting on the edge of the upper level, legs dangling over the edge while he shivers in the chill air. 

He doesn’t even seem to notice her until she’s sitting down beside him. Cid startles so badly that she worries he’s going to slide right off the edge.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” she smiles nervously, holding her jacket tighter around her. She can see her breath puffing out in front of her. 

“No, that’s okay.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. She hasn’t allowed herself much time with Cid ever since Reeve’s confession. Truthfully, she doesn’t trust herself around him sometimes. Cid is always saying or doing something that makes her blush, and she doesn’t want Reeve to think he’s the reason she’s staying with Avalanche, the reason she ran away from Midgar and her responsibilities. 

‘Vice President’ is just an empty title anyway. The only power that comes with it is whatever power Rufus chooses to bestow upon her. And that all depends on the kind of mood her brother is in that particular day.

“I hope Aerith is okay,” Charlie sighs, bringing a knee to her chest to rest her chin atop it. 

“I’m sure she’s fine. Kid’s tougher than she looks.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” She hates that the words come without warning, hates that it makes her sound so petty, hates _herself_ for asking. 

Though she can’t see it, it’s as if she can _hear_ him rolling his eyes, just by the tone of his voice. “Fuckin’ hell, Lottie.”

“What?” she snaps. 

“You avoid talkin’ to me for _days_ , and that’s the first goddamn question you’re gonna ask me?”

Charlie flushes head to toe. “I was just asking a _question_ —”

“You’re asking a stupid fuckin’ question—”

“Fine, then I’m leaving.”

Cid’s hand darts out before she can stand up, thick fingers curling around her wrist. “Hold on, little lady. You ain’t gettin’ away _that_ easily.”

“Let go of me _right now_.”

“Nope.”

Charlie struggles, but he’s too strong. Only after she growls through her teeth does he release her, laughing to himself. 

“Y’know, that’s pretty fuckin’ rich of you to be concerned ‘bout if I think Aerith is pretty or not,” he continues, slightly bitterly, “when you’re the one goin’ off into the woods with that goddamn _Turk_ every chance you can get.”

“ _Now_ who’s acting stupid?” she counters. “He’s old enough to be my father.”

“Didn’t you get pissed off at me for the same thing? Goin’ off with a Turk?”

“Gods, that was like, _five_ years ago. And I was only upset because you weren’t preparing for the launch like you were supposed to be.”

“Oh yeah? That was the only reason?” 

She knows he’s only trying to get a rise out of her, but it’s working. She’s so embarrassed that she could die, content to slip off the edge of the ledge and lie broken on the ground until morning. 

Charlie feels guilty, then. She can’t really explain why. Perhaps it’s because Cid hasn’t done anything to warrant a scolding from her. Perhaps it’s because there’s so much he doesn’t know, so much that she’s keeping from him—mainly the knowledge that her ex-fiancé has been following Cloud and the others around since Gold Saucer. 

“Vincent doesn’t really talk to me anyway,” she admits softly. “It’s like he thinks I’m not worth the effort or energy.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s intimidated by such a stubborn young woman that’s capable of chattin’ someone’s fuckin’ ear off.”

To her surprise, his answer makes her giggle, though she hides her smile behind her fingers like it’s a secret. It seems wrong to smile after all that’s happened. 

“What’s so funny?” Cid asks, sounding worried about what her answer might be. 

“It’s just that . . .” She lowers her hand so he’s able to see her smile. “When Veld first introduced me to Tseng, he was the same way. It took him some time to warm up to me. It’s just funny because . . . well . . .” Her smile fades slightly. “You just reminded me of Veld, that’s all.”

“He . . . meant a lot to you?”

“Tseng?”

“No. Veld.”

“Oh.” Charlie swings her legs forward and back, her heels colliding gently with the wall. “Yes, he did.”

“What happened to him?”

She sighs. If she talks about Veld, she’ll have to talk about Tseng, too, and his death still weighs heavily on her. With an apologetic smile, she says, “Maybe not tonight.”

Cid’s voice is gruff, but gentle. “Okay.”

“Why don’t _you_ tell _me_ something?” she asks. She has no qualms listening to _his_ secrets. 

“I ain’t got any secrets, Lottie. You know me.”

“Not a secret, then. Just something I don’t know.”

Cid thinks for a minute, chuckling as he lights another cigarette. “Okay, lemme think,” he sighs, holding his fingers to his scratchy chin. “Shit, I don’t know what to say, honey.”

“Well, why did you join the military?”

“Some recruiters came sniffin’ round town one day lookin’ for pilots,” he explains, and Charlie tries to picture him as no more than a boy, but it’s difficult to picture him any other way than he is now, or that he had been all those years ago. “Told me I’d be clothed, fed, and paid if I joined the military. So I did, and didn’t look back. Moved to Junon a week later and started training.”

“Did you ever see any action?”

“A little. Was sent to Wutai twice. The first time for six months, and the second time for nine.”

“Did you ever kill anyone?”

Cid seems surprised by her boldness, his eyes widening and a nervous little laugh escaping his lips. “I mean,” he pauses, “they were our enemies, Lottie, but I ain’t proud of it.” 

Charlie nods.

“That doesn’t scare you or anything, does it?”

“No,” she replies honestly, “it doesn’t.”

He runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Good.”

“I grew up around murderers, Cid,” Charlie reminds him sheepishly, looking away towards the glowing tents down below. “I was raised by them.”

He takes a pull off his cigarette. It glows bright in the darkness. “What was it like?”

_Dangerous territory,_ she thinks, biting down on her lip. _I need to be careful what I tell him._

But why? What’s the harm in telling him the truth?

“It was lonely sometimes,” Charlie confesses, picking at her shorts. “I hated the things they did, the callousness of it all, the professionalism of it all. I hated being associated with them.” She thinks of the Sector Seven plate dropping, killing hundreds of thousands of people in seconds. “But they were there for me. They supported and took care of me. And Veld, Tseng . . . they loved me, and they didn’t have to.” 

He doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t expect him to. She doesn’t really expect him to understand how that feels, to struggle with these feelings of burning resentment and guilty love. 

“Does that frighten you?” Charlie asks again. 

“No,” Cid answers slowly, “it doesn’t.”

“It should. You should be terrified of the Turks, and of my brother. You know very well what they’re capable of.”

“Well—” He looks around the dig site and lowers his voice—“I don’t see any of ‘em here to save you from me now, honey.”

She hesitates, but settles on telling him something else, one other truth to leave him with for the night. “I like it when you call me that.”

“Call you what?” He gives her a crooked smile, flashing bright teeth at her. “Honey?”

Charlie nods again, feeling overwhelmed. “I should get back.”

“I’ll go with you.”

They walk slowly together and in silence, and when they re-enter the tent, Vincent is back in his place by the sofa, sitting up with his eyes closed. Charlie settles back down in her corner, stepping carefully over Barret’s legs in the process. Part of her hopes Cid will move closer to her, but he regains his place by the fire, closing his eyes almost immediately. 

Charlie puts her back to him and falls asleep. 

* * *

The Sleeping Forest awakens with the Lunar Harp. 

Though it was quiet before, it remains quiet after being woken. The only thing that seems to change is the atmosphere, feeling heavier than when they took their first step into the forest from Bone Village. Charlie can’t help but feel there are constant eyes on the back of her neck, and the fine hairs on her arms stand up, goosebumps rising all over her skin.

There is magic here, old magic, just like she had felt at the Temple of the Ancients. She can feel it beneath her feet with every step she takes, and when the trees seem to shiver, there is no breeze to push them along. 

Thankfully, it’s not a terribly long walk, and when they’re free of the forest, it’s like being born again.

The rest of the journey is not so easy.

With Cloud setting a grueling pace, Charlie does all she can to keep up with him. She and Cid move together in the middle of the group, and once out of the forest, they find there’s no set path for them to follow anymore. Once again, Charlie wonders how Aerith had managed the journey alone, wonders if the magic within this place had helped her along. 

They’re all able to climb over and up rocks and cross through downed and hollow tree trunks in order to find the path again. To Cloud and Nanaki and Yuffie and Tifa (and Vincent, who is able to seemingly float from ledge to ledge), this is all very easy for them, but not for the rest. Charlie struggles at times to climb confidently, but Cid stays below her to catch her if she falls. Barret has a hard time, what with his one working hand, and Cait Sith has to wrap his tiny arms around Charlie’s neck to make his way up, while Vincent and Cid reach down to pull up the moogle afterwards. 

When they eventually find the path again, a horrible twisting thing that, to Charlie, resembles a spine, she begins to feel a sense of foreboding. 

The City of the Ancients has clearly been long abandoned, reduced to ruins. While multi-colored plant-life springs up from between the pathway and on either side of them, it’s no plant-life _she’s_ ever seen before. Many of the buildings that still stand have been built from over-sized shells, while the rest of the buildings have been reduced to nearly nothing.

They search everywhere for Aerith. Cloud swears up and down that this was where she intended to go, and Charlie doesn’t doubt him, but there’s no sign of her anywhere. They call out her name several times and are met with no response. They search the buildings that still stand, only to find some furniture left behind by whatever Ancients lived here all those years ago. 

Down one pathway, around another, through a broken house, off the pathway and into the ruins proper. They search for hours, watching the sun slowly lower upon the northern horizon. There are no footprints that might belong to Aerith, Nanaki can’t pick up her scent, and it’s getting darker and colder.

“You’re probably the first Shinra to ever set foot in this place,” Cait Sith tells her quietly after a while, taking a short, five-second break to look around and admire the ruins in the glow of the evening sun. “Take it in.”

She’s slightly apprehensive about that, truthfully. Part of her had been thrilled about wandering through the Temple of the Ancients because of that exact thought, and their adventure had turned out so badly that Charlie wishes she had never come at all. If Cloud had been telling the truth about Sephiroth on his way here, to stop Aerith, then who’s to say she won’t meet that same fate?

_She won’t,_ Charlie tells herself. _We’ve all come to rescue her, which is far more than Tseng got._

“This place has been abandoned for two-thousand years,” the cat continues to explain, worming his way onto her shoulders to keep quiet, taking advantage of Cid’s temporary distance. “Once the calamity came, they were forced to disperse, to blend in with the other human population.”

Charlie looks around again. She tries to picture the place blooming with life, full of Ancients that look like Aerith, running back and forth through the twisting pathways. For a moment, a thrill of terror shoots through her entire body, and she shudders so violently that Cait Sith jumps from her shoulders back to his fluffy white steed. 

She shouldn’t be here. She doesn’t belong here. Shinra ruins and destroys everything they touch, and that includes her. 

As night begins to fall, they’re no closer to finding Aerith than they were yesterday. Thankfully, Tifa is able to convince Cloud to get some rest in a house that still stands. They’re all exhausted from walking non-stop all day, and everyone’s stomach is beginning to rumble from walking off the small, dehydrated snacks they picked up from Bone Village. 

Nanaki, Vincent, Barret, and Cait Sith all decide to get comfortable on the floor. Yuffie and Tifa share one bed, Cloud takes another, and Cid tells Charlie to go ahead and sleep in the last one.

“No, it’s all right. I can sleep on the floor,” she tells him, blushing. 

“Look, I ain’t gonna take a bed while there’s a lady sleepin’ on the floor,” Cid whispers, putting his hands on her shoulders and steering her towards the only empty one as everyone else begins to settle. “Go on, kiddo. It’s just for a few hours.”

Charlie doesn’t know what sort of madness possesses her when she replies, “We can share, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

Cid smiles down at her, almost sympathetic. She regrets the offer the moment it leaves her mouth, having almost forgotten that Reeve will surely take note of her sleeping with another man (Tseng doesn’t count, she thinks, because she _definitely_ didn’t want to kiss Tseng like she wants to kiss Cid right now right now _right now_ ). But _Gods_ it would feel good again to allow herself to be wrapped up in someone’s arms. 

“Go ahead, Lottie. I’ll be all right on the floor.”

_Damn you,_ she thinks. Now she _definitely_ wants to share a bed with him. Maybe it’s a little petty, but he had been so kind to her last night, had somehow coerced information from her that she wasn’t really comfortable talking about in front of just anyone. All he had to do was smile handsomely and listen well and it came pouring out of her.

The rejection stings, especially in a room full of people who may or may not be listening, and _especially_ when one of those people happens to be a man she intended to marry. “Okay,” she says softly, offering him a small smile before taking another step back towards the bed. 

Yet, to her surprise, Cid settles on the floor right next to her bed. She lets her arm dangle off the edge, wondering if he’ll be brave enough to touch her. After several minutes of him fidgeting and getting comfortable on the hard ground, his hand finds hers, and she falls asleep shortly afterwards. 

She wakes late into the night, after the sun has set in earnest. Cloud is already awake, and his movement sets everyone else to stirring, as well. Charlie pulls her hand away from Cid’s, giving his shoulder a gentle shake to wake him up.

“We ready to keep movin’?” Barret asks with a yawn, rolling his shoulders and getting to his feet. 

“Cloud,” Tifa says, walking up to him and frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“I can feel it . . .” Cloud holds his head in his hands. She can hear the shifting of Vincent’s sabatons against the floor, and Yuffie groans into her pillow before leaping from her bed. “Aerith is here, and so is Sephiroth.”

Charlie hesitates, wondering how such a thing could be possible. She tries to feel for whatever he might be feeling, but comes up short. Maybe the City of the Ancients doesn’t want to communicate with the VP of Shinra Electric Power Company.

“Sephiroth?” she asks, feeling her heart flutter, remembering the way he had nearly sliced Tseng in two, remembering the way his sword had pinned her father to his desk. “He’s _here?_ ”

Cid holds out a hand to calm Cloud down. “Hang on just a damn minute. How can you be so sure ‘bout that?”

“I just . . .” Cloud lowers his hands, looking down at them. “I can feel it in my soul.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Nanaki suggests.

“Right.” Cloud nods, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “Let’s hurry.”

Cloud leads them all out of the house before they’re entirely awake. Charlie feels her feet beginning to drag, but the sight of Cid flexing the fingers on the hand that was holding hers gives her a small push of energy. She curls her own fingers into a fist, wishing she had stayed awake long enough to enjoy the feeling of their fingers twined together. 

At a fork in the road, split three ways, Cloud points down the middle pathway towards a small gathering of flat rocks, where bone-white trees spring from the ground, lacking any leaves. Claiming to be led by Aerith’s voice, he continues with his friends at his back. 

She doesn’t know when the feeling may actually have begun, but Charlie knows now that something is wrong. Why would Aerith have come here alone? They all would have protected her, kept her free from harm. Was she trying to draw Sephiroth off everyone else to give them more time?

Upon entering the dense forest, full of more eerie trees full of branches that look like thin fingers, they’re greeted by a small pool with glittering blue water, completely still. An enormous conch-shell towers over it, casting much of the water in shadow (or, as much as it can during the night).

The inside is a spiral ramp, leading up to the top, where it’s a dead end. If they wish to proceed down, however, that option is available to them, as well, in the form of a crystalline staircase that descends deep into the heart of the City of the Ancients. 

It feels like she’s underwater, though Charlie finds she can still breathe. There is nothing around them except for green- and blue-tinted darkness, graced with light by the moonbeams that shine through the surface. 

A massive crystal structure seems to grow from nothing, partially surrounding the preserved ruins that the stairs are leading them to. She clings to the back of Cid’s jacket as they continue down the stairs, half-afraid that she’ll fall off and be caught in limbo for the rest of eternity. The rest of her companions follow behind carefully, especially Cait Sith, whose moogle seems slightly too wide to comfortably descend. 

These ruins are in much better shape, clearly made of different materials than the upper ruins. There are several towers with narrow windows, a first and second story connected by solid staircases, and pillars that clearly supported something very large two-thousand years ago. 

In the center of the shallow pool of water that the ruins are built around, a few pillars remain of what, she assumes, was a bridge, leading to the altar drenched in yellow light, as if the sun were shining right down upon it.

That’s where they find Aerith, kneeling on the ground with her head bowed and her hands clasped together. It feels a very solemn moment, and Charlie is the first to step towards the first pillar, determined to get to Aerith, but Cloud holds a hand out to stop her. 

“I’ll go,” he murmurs, and while Charlie is reluctant to stay behind with everyone else, Cid takes her by the hand and pulls her away to give Cloud room. 

He leaps his way across the broken pillars until he reaches the altar, walking the remaining steps very slowly. If Aerith has noticed his arrival, she hasn’t yet acknowledged his presence. She remains deep in prayer, and Charlie wonders how long she’s been here. 

The moment Cloud takes another step towards Aerith, finally reaching the landing, his hand jumps to his head. Charlie’s heart leaps in her throat, remembering the incident in the buggy when she had asked Cloud about Angeal and his sword. Thankfully, he seems to shake it off much quicker this time, and Charlie feels Cid’s arm creep around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. 

Perhaps he feels it, too, whatever it is. That awful feeling that’s settling in Charlie’s stomach. Where is Sephiroth? Isn’t he supposed to be here? How could they possibly have gotten here before him?

Time seems to move so slowly. Even as Cloud reaches behind him to grab the pommel of his Buster Sword— _wait, what?_

It slides off his back with ease, and Cloud continues to move closer to Aerith, seemingly unchanged. Maybe he’s concerned about Sephiroth, as well, and yet . . . the closer he gets, the higher he’s raising his sword, until he’s right in front of Aerith with both hands and his sword held high above his head. 

“Cloud!” Cid shouts, and everyone seems to scream with him, attempting to catch Cloud’s attention, hoping to distract him from whatever he’s about to do to Aerith. 

“ _Stop it!_ ” Charlie screams, horrified as she becomes convinced she’s about to watch Cloud cleave Aerith in half, from her shoulder to her hip. “Cloud, what are you doing!”

The blade of his sword comes to a halt just before striking Aerith in the head. Charlie’s hands are sweaty and her heart is racing, but Cid won’t let her go, and Barret is already preparing to go after Cloud, to knock him out before he does something stupid. 

Lowering his sword, Cloud falls backwards. 

“Something is wrong,” Charlie tells her friends, nuzzling against Cid’s side against her better judgement, allowing his fingers to press firmly into her shoulder. “What’s wrong with him?”

But Tifa doesn’t have an answer for her, and neither does anyone else. 

“What are you . . . making me do . . .” Cloud gives his head a shake, stumbling at the top step. Barret calls out for him, but before he’s able to move closer, Cloud stops him again with a single hand. 

Finally, _finally_ , Aerith looks up. She raises her head slowly, lips curling into a small smile upon seeing Cloud. For a moment, they look at each other, and it’s sweet to witness a tender moment after searching for her for so long. 

It doesn’t last long. 

For the first time in weeks, Charlotte feels as if she’s back in the president’s office, in her _father_ ’s office, hiding within the wardrobe as her father’s employees were being slaughtered in the corridors. Something descends from the watery-looking sky, something dressed all in black, directly atop Aerith, and the large sword gleams as the light hits it just right. 

It is the same easy strength that killed her father. 

Sephiroth’s sword slides through Aerith’s back just as smoothly as it did President’s Shinra. Sephiroth hardly seems to break a sweat, pushing the sword as far as it will go as he lands, the end of the sword covered in sticky red blood. 

Aerith gasps, the bloodstain on the front of her pink dress growing bigger, bigger, bigger. It’s over within seconds, her upper half slumping over, green doe-eyes wide with shock. Charlie can’t look away from it, not even when Sephiroth pulls his sword out of her abdomen, _smiling_. She still can’t look away, even as Aerith falls forward into Cloud’s arms, pale green materia falling from her pink ribbon. 

She hasn’t even registered that her friends are all screaming and shouting, pushing past her with their weapons drawn and making their way up to the altar. Charlie can’t bring herself to follow, horrified, unable to hear, unable to move, unable to do anything but gape at Aerith and a triumphant-looking Sephiroth. 

First her father, who had been skewered carelessly, pinned to his desk before his own daughter’s very eyes. 

And then it had been Tseng, sliced open and forced to bleed out in Charlie’s arms. 

And now Aerith, killed mercilessly without time for anyone to say good-bye, without time for anyone to smile with her, to laugh with her, to talk to her one last time. 

A horrible, crippling guilt takes over. Charlie drops to her knees, unable to stand on shaking legs any longer. If she had just stayed in her room with Aerith that night, would she still have left? Is this her fault? Was Tseng her fault? Should she have spoken to Sephiroth? Tried to reason with him?

_Are they dead_ . . . _because of me?_

Charlie pulls her handgun out of the holster. Don Corneo’s gun seems a fine weapon to use to fill Sephiroth full of bullet holes. She can’t fight like the others, and she’s useless when it comes to materia and everything else, but she’s willing to die here if it means the end of this burning guilt, this horror, this pain, the _loss_. 

Holding her gun in one trembling hand, Charlie leaps from pillar to pillar, making for her group of friends. She does not fear Sephiroth anymore. He had almost killed her once, only to spare her. She does not fear death, and anything he will do to her will be quick. 

She pushes through her friends, squeezing between Barret and a crying Tifa, pushing a sobbing Yuffie aside to stand a few feet away from Cloud, Aerith, and Sephiroth. 

“Aerith . . .” Cloud whimpers, and Charlie looks down at her face, peaceful and beautiful, even in death. She hadn’t been forced to struggle in pain like Tseng did. “This can’t be real . . .”

At the sight of Aerith, Charlie loses all of her willpower. She takes a step back, backing right into Cid’s chest. One of his strong arms snakes around her, his weapon still in his right hand. Charlie buries her face into his chest, the coarse growth on his face scratching against her forehead as he nuzzles against her hair for a moment. 

“Don’t pretend you have feelings now,” Sephiroth says in a low voice, oblivious to anyone other than Cloud. 

“Of course I do!” Cloud lays Aerith gently on the ground, pushing himself back to his feet and picking up his Buster Sword. Charlie watches through half-closed eyes, clinging to Cid. “Who do you think I am?”

Sephiroth laughs, but it isn’t the friendly laughter that followed his teasing all those years ago. It is dark laughter, soft and vicious, mocking. “Stop pretending that you’re sad,” he chortles, the worst laughter she’s ever heard in her life, “and there’s no reason for you to act as if you’re angry, as well.”

He holds his arms out, rising from the ground slowly, looking down upon them all. Charlie hasn’t taken the time to look around at her other friends, but she sees that they’re all crying, or close to it. Even Vincent looks troubled, a crease between his eyebrows, and Cait Sith holds his head in his hands. 

The moment Sephiroth shoots upwards, towards the blue-green surface, something falls to their feet, something that squirms and wriggles on the ground. It looks like some horribly twisted appendage, rotting and moving on its own, inching towards the edge of the altar until it falls right off the side, but it’s the last thing anyone pays any attention to. 

Cloud is quiet for a long time, looking down at Aerith. His cheeks look wet, but he takes care to hide his face from the majority of his friends before wiping it with the back of his hand. He props Aerith up against the wall, eyes closed now, mousy hair falling into her eyes. 

Everyone takes care to say their last good-byes to Aerith. Charlie lingers, watching them fuss over her, adjust her hair, cry over her body. She waits for everyone to finish, almost feeling guilty for moving closer to her, urged along by a nudge in the back by Barret’s gun-arm before he leaves the altar.

Cloud watches on as Charlie kneels at Aerith’s side. She doesn’t know what she feels. Her father’s death had been horrible, and Tseng’s had been infinitely worse, but at least she had time to say good-bye to him, to thank him, to tell him that she loved him. 

It’s difficult to see Aerith’s pretty face through the tears in her eyes. Charlie wipes at them with her sleeve, unable to think of anything to say, of anything to do. An apology will go unheard, and she’s hesitant to pick up one of her hands, not wanting to seem like she’s crossing any boundaries. 

So instead of talking to Aerith, Charlie turns her head to face Cloud. He meets her eyes with his own glowing ones. “I’m still in,” she tells him hoarsely, “if you are.”

Cloud is quiet for a long time. She doesn’t even mind if he blames her for this, for Sephiroth, for everything. Slowly, he inclines his head, extending a hand to help her up. 

Charlie takes it and, for a moment, just for a single fleeting moment that’s gone before she can take the time to blink, she can almost feel Angeal’s comforting presence wrap around her like a blanket, helping her to stand once more on her own two feet.

She must go on. 

* * *

They stay the night in the City of the Ancients, in the collapsing building with the three beds.

He’s amazed that Charlie can even sleep, considering how she had reacted to the Turk’s death. 

There’s no fucking way he’ll be getting any sleep tonight, even with Charlie’s head nestled in the crook of his arm and the front of her body pressed against his side, breathing so softly that the only indication she’s still alive is the warm breath she exhales against his neck. 

Her left hand is resting comfortably on his chest, his heart beating furiously against her palm.

He thinks of the open abdomen of the Turk and the fear in his dark eyes as he lay dying, the blood on Aerith’s dress and the smile on her face before her life was cut short, the scar on Charlie’s neck that Vincent healed with ease. He thinks of Sephiroth, the famed and touted war hero, responsible for it all, responsible for taking away an innocent little flower girl before they were able to do anything, before they were able to save her. 

When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is Sephiroth descending from the fucking heavens, sword slipping between Aerith’s fucking bones like it was _nothing._

When he opens them, he thinks a little more time has passed than a few seconds. Charlie hasn’t moved an inch, and it scares him.

“Lottie,” he whispers into her hair, giving her a little shake, squeezing his arm around her tighter. “ _Lottie_.”

Charlie moans softly, sounding slightly irritable when she huffs, “What?” without even opening her eyes. She shifts against him, but doesn’t pull away.

“Nothin’,” he sighs, letting his heart rest for a moment. “Go back to sleep. Sorry.”

She’s already asleep again before he apologizes. Cid can’t help himself. He turns very slowly, keeping her wrapped up in the arm holding her to his chest, and using his free hand to brush her hair aside. The moonlight shines down through the open roof, illuminating the long, pink scar on the side of her neck. 

With the pad of his thumb, he traces the scar on her smooth skin, wanting to kiss it. It’s a queer feeling for him, but doing so now probably wouldn’t help things. 

“It’s okay, Cid,” she tells him, and he pulls his hand away from her neck as quick as he can, blushing furiously in the night. “I’m right here.”

“I know, honey.” He smooths her hair back and presses his cheek to her temple. She feels feverish, but that could just be because he’s practically smothering her with his body heat. “I know.”

* * *

It’s pouring rain in Kalm. 

Reeve hurries to the door of the home Elmyra and Marlene are staying in, one hand holding his suit jacket over his head and the other hand holding a small bouquet of flowers. 

It’s not enough, he knows. It will never be enough. 

When he enters through the front door, the both of them are seated at the kitchen table. Marlene is working on some school work while Elmyra sews the hem of a small blue dress. He doesn’t want to disturb them, knowing that he’s probably not the right person to tell Elmyra her daughter has been killed, but there’s no one else around to do the job and she deserves to know.

The both of them look up when he enters, and Marlene’s bored expression is wiped from her face. She spills from her chair, pencils rolling off the table and clattering to the floor. Reeve stumbles as she tugs at his shirt, trying to pull him over to the table while he’s still hanging his waterlogged jacket onto the coat rack. 

Elmyra smiles at him from the table before lowering her eyes to her work again. Still clutching the flowers in his hand, he kneels down before Marlene and plucks a single yellow flower from the bouquet, offering it out to her. 

“Why don’t you go get yourself ready for bed?” he suggests in a soft voice, ruffling her hair as she accepts the flower eagerly. “I need to talk to Elmyra. Go pick out some books to read and I’ll be up there in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Marlene answers, taking her flower upstairs with her and leaving her work on the table and floor. 

Elmyra falters, looking him up and down before her eyes settle warily upon the flowers in his hand. Reeve moves carefully towards her, pulling a chair closer so he’s able to catch her in case she faints. 

When he places the flowers upon the table, Elmyra purses her lips very tightly, tears welling up in her eyes. He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and sighing. When she shakes her head, seemingly already understanding before he’s forced to open his mouth. 

“It’s Aerith, isn’t it?” she asks, voice breaking.

“I am _so_ sorry, Elmyra,” he rasps, and he is, _Gods_ , he _is._ He’s sorry for the callous way Aerith was taken away from them, sorry for the horrible ending that sweet girl had been forced to meet. “You have to believe that we did everything we could.”

She closes her eyes, holding her hands up to cover her face. The moment his hand comes to rest on her shoulder, she breaks down into heaving sobs, tears leaking through her fingers as her back jumps with each hiccup. 

It occurs to him (and it is quite possibly the worst possible moment to remember this) that he hasn’t been shown much affection, if any, since Charlie left. When Elmyra falls into him, sobbing into his chest, he has to take a minute to catch his breath. 

He will tell her later how Sephiroth had done it, how Sephiroth had come from nowhere to interrupt Aerith’s praying. She had looked so damned peaceful, even with a sword through her abdomen, even with her blood dripping from the end of the blade. She had looked so damned peaceful even as she sank to the bottom of the water in the City of the Ancients, long hair splayed out across the surface of the water until she disappeared beneath the surface.

For now, however, he will let her cry. 

* * *

He’s already rented a room at a local hotel in Junon by the time he arrives. He plans to sleep for as long as he can when he’s done. It’s been a long two days, the longest two days he’s ever lived through in his life, and all the traveling has made him violently nauseous. 

Reeve is dragging his feet by the time he makes it to the hospital, checks-in with the doctor, and makes his way back to Tseng’s room. 

He’s forgone flowers for this particular visit, but Tseng seems to notice something is wrong the moment Reeve sets foot into the room, closing the door behind him. 

Tseng closes the book in his hands, lying it down in his lap. He’s sitting up today, looking better every day. Reeve hates that he has to deliver this news. Why couldn’t it be someone else? Why couldn’t it be anyone other than him? Why can’t it be Veld telling Tseng this horrible news?

Truthfully, Reeve isn’t certain how Tseng might react. The reaction is what he’s most fearful of. 

Thankfully, Tseng is far more perceptive than he sometimes lets on. “Is it Charlotte?” he asks, jaw set as he prepares for the answer. 

Sighing, Reeve sits down in the empty chair at Tseng’s bedside. “Aerith,” he says apologetically.

Tseng looks at him for a long time, eyes roving his face, looking for something that might give it up as a joke. But it is certainly not a joke, and Reeve wishes he could take it back. 

Turning his face away from Reeve and towards the window, Tseng doesn’t speak for a long time, but the only thing he says afterwards, in a low and tremulous voice, is: “Okay.”


	53. Chapter 53

They set up camp early the next afternoon, everyone working in silence. 

Charlie is able to get a fire going by herself, and while Cid is sure she might celebrate that achievement under different circumstances, she keeps her face neutral and only says something softly to Barret before he sets some more kindling on the ground where she’s kneeling in the dirt. 

Without much game to hunt this far north, they’re left with whatever is available. They stay away from the mostly unfamiliar plant-life, but Vincent is able to gun down a few fat birds for them all. Tifa cooks them on a spit made by Cloud, and they all share an early dinner, but it’s not enough. 

No one complains, though. They’re all still alive, at least. The same can’t be said of Aerith, whose noticeable absence seems to hang over them all that night. 

As the sun goes down, they all remain by the fire. Cid has become almost accustomed to Vincent and Charlie going off by themselves, or the girls retiring early to bed, or Cloud doing fuck all by himself. But not tonight. Tonight, he knows that they’re all relishing each other’s company, even if they choose not to speak. 

With it being so damn cold, everyone is huddled together, too. It’s rare to see everyone showing such genuine affection and casual intimacy, like they’ve all become comfortable with each other over time, through the long journey north, and possibly even before that. 

Cid doesn’t know that he shares that same affection for them all yet. They’re all morons most of the time, but in an almost endearing way. Now that they’ve been traveling together for a little while, he’s beginning to learn what ticks them off and what pleases them. He knows their strengths and weaknesses, knows when to leave them alone and when to prod. 

Isn’t that what family is? Isn’t family knowing that they’re all a bunch of idiots, but loving them anyway? Wanting to be with them because, in spite of their differences, they’re the only ones that really understand you?

He glances sideways at Charlie, propped up against a log with her long legs stretched out in front of her, warming them by the fire as she looks into the flames. Her shoulder is touching his, but she hardly seems to notice. On her other side sits Vincent, a healthy bit of space between them. 

What would she think if she knew Cid Highwind was thinking of her as his own dysfunctional family?

_She’s already got one of those,_ he thinks to himself, wondering why the hell she’s even here still, wondering why the hell her brother hasn’t made an effort to come get her. Maybe that mission died with that Turk. Maybe she’s on her own now, just like everyone else here. 

When he looks at it that way, she isn’t any different from anyone else in the world. Sometimes he can’t believe that she’s actually the vice president of Shinra Inc. 

“You okay, honey?” he asks quietly, just because she seems far away from here.

Charlie looks up at him and gives him a very practiced smile, nodding before turning her gaze back on the fire. 

He knows better than to try and make a move on her here, in front of all these people. Even just draping an arm behind her would have her running back to Midgar without so much as a word. It probably wouldn’t look good for the vice president to be seen so much with a scrappy pilot like him. 

“Everyone . . . listen to me.”

Both Cid and Charlie look across the fire at Cloud, who has chosen to sit alone tonight. His massive sword is lying at his side, like he’s ready for a fight, like he’s prepared for Sephiroth to fucking blindside them all again.

The fire crackles loudly in the silence for a minute before Cloud speaks again. He’s been quiet all day, quieter than usual. “I’m Cloud, ex-SOLDIER, born in Nibelheim. I came to settle up with Sephiroth.”

Charlie watches him, looking deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I came here of my own free will . . . or so I thought.” Having seen Cloud fight, and seen the strength he possesses, sometimes Cid forgets that he’s just a damn kid. “To tell the truth, I’m . . . afraid of myself. There’s a part of me I don’t understand. The part of me that gave Sephiroth the Black Materia.”

At this, Charlie lowers her eyes. Cid knows she’s thinking about that goddamn Turk. She always looks like that when she’s thinking about him, teeth buried into her lower lip. 

“There’s something inside of me,” Cloud continues. “A person that’s not really me. And that’s why . . . I should quit this journey, before I do something terrible.”

“But . . .” Tifa blinks in surprise, shaking her head. At her side, Barret gives a scoff. “Cloud, you can’t!”

“I _am_ going,” Cloud explains to her, sighing. “Sephiroth destroyed our hometown five years ago, killed Aerith, and he wants to destroy the planet. I’ll never forgive him. I . . . must go on.” He looks around at his friends for a moment, eyes lingering on Charlie’s before passing over her. “Charlie is coming with me, but I have a favor to ask the rest of you.”

Cid looks down at her. Charlie’s arms are folded across her chest, almost looking determined. 

“Will you all come with us? In the hopes of . . . saving me from doing something terrible.”

“If _Charlie_ ’s going, then I’m going,” Yuffie snorts, waving a flippant hand at Charlie from her spot by the fire with Nanaki and Cait Sith. “Can’t trust a Shinra to watch your back, Cloud.” Despite the content of her words, she casts a crooked smile at Charlie. 

“The planet must be saved,” Nanaki adds, “so I’ll go, too.”

“And me,” Cid hears himself saying, and he’s met with a bright smile flashed at him through the dark. Charlie looks up at him and positively fucking _beams._ “Son of a bitch needs to be stopped.”

Vincent nods, Cait Sith agrees excitedly, and Cloud finally turns to Barret and Tifa, who have been unusually quiet throughout this ordeal. 

Barret only scoffs. “You don’t even gotta ask, SOLDIER,” he answers, and Tifa nods her approval, a small smile on her face. “There ain’t no gettin’ offa this train we’re on.”

Cloud is quiet for a minute or so. In a voice thick with emotion, he finally tells them all, “Then tomorrow we head north, to find Sephiroth and end it once and for all. We have to get the Black Materia back before he uses it.”

Shortly after this, Barret digs out enough makeshift cups for them all, pouring them the rest of his booze so they can all have a shot (except for Cait Sith and Nanaki, of course) of some fucking strong alcohol that he’s been holding onto since Wutai. 

They all raise their cups to Aerith, to the inevitable defeat of Sephiroth, to family and friendship and whatever other bullshit toasts they can come up with. Charlie drinks with the rest of them, and Cid can’t help but wonder what’s in this for her besides revenge for that Turk. 

Is that really all that’s driving her? Vengeance? Revenge? All selfish motivations. Shinra doesn’t care about the planet, and they never have. Has it taken Lottie twenty-seven years to come to the realization that it’s _her_ planet, too?

What does it really matter why she’s here, if it means she’s doing good? Do her motivations need to be pure? Should she fight the good fight for her own reasons, or for the sake of the world, for the people . . . all the people who wronged her, and whispered behind her back . . .

Does she owe those people anything? All those people that would rather see her dead? All those people that hate her because of her last name, hate her because they don’t even fucking know her?

And anyway, why the hell is _he_ still here?

He’s got nothing for him in Rocket Town, except for his rocket, and maybe Shera. He thinks of her for the first time since he left, wondering if Shera is still living in his house, waiting for him to return. Was it wrong of him to leave her with no clear intention of coming back?

Does he care about the planet? Sure. Maybe. Just like Charlie, it’s _his_ planet, too, and he owes it to the planet to fight for it, right? Is he willing to die for this?

Was Aerith willing to die for this? Did she know her fate? Did she walk knowingly into that situation, waiting for the cold steel to slip through her skin and bones? Did she die for nothing?

No, it can’t be for nothing. He won’t let it have been for nothing. 

He will go on, with Lottie at his side.

* * *

Charlie had intended to wait for everyone to fall asleep, but it’s getting late, and she doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

She offers to gather more wood for the fire, asking Cait Sith to come with her. Cid scoffs and mumbles and protests, reminding her that he’s just as capable of carrying sticks back to the fire for her, but Charlie only smiles at him and insists Cait Sith accompany her this time, which doesn’t sit well with Barret, either, for good reason. 

“Look at ‘em,” Barret snaps as they both make to walk towards the heavily wooded area to the west of them. “Goddamn vice president and her goddamn spy. If you have somethin’ to share with him, then maybe you can share it with the group, _Shinra._ ”

“Charlie’s not a spy,” Cait Sith insists sharply, and she blushes. She knew they might see it that way. “She’s got nothin’ to do with it!”

“Birds of a feather,” Barret grumbles, getting heavily to his feet with a bit of effort. “How do we know that we ain’t walkin’ right into a trap, huh? How do we know that y’all ain’t plottin’ against us?”

“I don’t even know who he is,” Charlie lies, irritable and defensive. She’s tired of people assuming things about her, tired of people assuming she’s no better than her father or brother. “Besides, I don’t see you putting Vincent to the question nearly every night. He’s ex-Shinra, too. And Cloud, for that matter.”

“Please don’t drag me into this,” Vincent sighs. 

“ _Bullshit_ you don’t know who he is,” Barret hisses, but Charlie doesn’t let herself falter. She will not be responsible for anything that may happen to Reeve because of this game he’s decided to play with them. 

“Are you crazy?” Cait Sith scoffs from atop his moogle. “Like I’d tell the vice president who I am! I’d be executed for treason!”

“She ain’t a fuckin’ spy, okay?” Cid shoots back, lighting up a cigarette. “Why don’t you just shut your goddamn mouth, tough guy?”

“You wanna go?”

Cid stands up, itching for a fist, tossing his freshly lit cigarette onto the ground and stamping it out. “What’re you gonna do? Fill me full of holes?”

“Pretty quick to defend the vice president, aren’t you? You willin’ to take a few hits for her, too?”

“No one is fighting anyone—” Cloud interrupts, but neither Barret or Cid acknowledge him. 

“Already fuckin’ have, and I’ll do it again—”

“Cid, _stop!_ ” Charlie shouts, running over to him and wrapping her hands around one of his arms. “That’s enough!” She tugs at Cid’s arm, which finally gets his attention. She lowers her voice. “Just leave it. I’m not worth it.”

“Let her go, Captain.” Barret points his gun-arm at Charlie, gesturing towards the forest with his chin. “If she wants to be with Shinra so bad, then let her. Ain’t no one here gonna stop her from runnin’ back to her daddy’s company.”

“Charlie knows what her father’s company has done,” Tifa counters, resting a small hand on Barret’s forearm as he sits back down on the ground, muttering to himself. “You know that she doesn’t condone anything that’s happened.”

“Just ‘cause you don’t condone it doesn’t mean shit,” Barret says, and Charlie realizes she still hasn’t let go of Cid’s arm. He hasn’t even tried to push her away. “If you knew ‘bout it, but did nothin’ . . . you’re complicit, Shinra, whether you like it or not. All them bullshit speeches ‘bout Avalanche, all the lives Shinra took . . . you stood by and let that happen.”

“What did you expect her to do, Barret?” Cait Sith asks, hopping forward, closer to the fire again. “I know you’re still upset about Corel, but there was nothing she could’a done ‘bout that. And in case you forgot, she _did_ try to stop the plate from dropping!”

“Don’t matter.” Barret looks to the sky and roars in frustration, sending birds scattering everywhere, his voice echoing long after they’re gone. “You lived comfortably for years off your daddy’s racketeering, blood money, and sins. Didn’t care so much ‘bout anyone else when your pockets were full, huh?” He points at her again, this time with his actual hand. “She don’t care that Aerith is dead, and she don’t care ‘bout the planet dyin’. All she cares ‘bout is gettin’ revenge on Sephiroth for what he did to that Turk—”

“That’s _enough!_ ”

Charlie jumps, not having expected Cid to speak so loudly. His words drown out Barret’s own argument, and the heat rises to her cheeks. “Cid, please . . .”

“No!” he retorts, shaking her off his arm. “What does it matter why she’s here if she wants to help? We’re all here for different reasons, ain’t we?” Cid looks slightly uncomfortable with all the attention, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Lottie’s lived a different life than the rest of us, a life that I’ll never fuckin’ understand, but . . . maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to judge, y’know? I mean . . .”

She wants to kiss him. Right here, right now. She wants to wrap her arms around his neck and never let go. She wants to bury her face into his chest and thank him over and over and over again. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Might be he was just another fuckin’ Turk to us, but to Charlie . . . he might’a been everything.” Cid groans, rubbing his temples. “Ah, fuck it, I dunno what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

When he finally brings himself to look at Charlie, she smiles at him. He’s very flustered and blushing madly in the firelight, but she loves it, and loves the sight even more when he returns her awkward smile with a crooked one. 

She doesn’t want anyone to fight her battles for her, but it’s such a sweet thing that she can’t even be angry about it. 

Barret seems satisfied after saying his piece, and no one stops Charlie from wandering off into the edge of the forest with Cait Sith afterwards. They’re quiet for a little while, walking slowly, thin branches crunching under their feet, startling small animals that scurry through the undergrowth with each step they take. 

“Something on your mind?”

It’s jarring to hear Cait Sith’s speech pattern change without warning, but it’s a nice indication as to whether or not that Reeve is present and listening. She still has yet to ask how the cat even works, but that’s not really an important question that needs answered right away. 

“Yes, a few things,” she admits. “Have you told Reno and Rude about Aerith?”

“No. Should I?”

“They would want to know, I think.” She purses her lips. “I don’t think Cloud was SOLDIER.”

“I was thinking the same thing, truthfully. I can go through the records tomorrow morning when I’m at the office.”

“See if you can find Zack’s file, as well. Something isn’t right about Cloud having that sword. Do you have access to the military files?”

“Your brother has given me access to just about everything,” Cait Sith confesses, shrugging his little shoulders. “If the records are there, I’ll find them.”

Charlie sighs heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wish Lazard were still there. He would have the answers we need.” Giving her head a shake, trying to clear her mind of her half-brother, she glances around the wooded area. “Why has Rufus given you so much access to everything?”

There’s a slight pause on the other end. Charlie wonders what secrets he’s keeping from her. “Ever since you parted ways with him in Rocket Town, your brother has seen fit to shut himself away.”

This makes her tense. “That’s what Tseng said. Is he all right?”

“He’s heartbroken.”

That’s what Tseng had said, as well. She tries to imagine her sweet little brother, so physically like herself in every way. She can’t imagine him as a hermit, as someone who could experience heartbreak. It breaks her own heart, and the moment she opens her mouth to speak, Cait Sith cuts her off, already knowing what she’s going to say.

“You can’t go back.”

“You’re the one who told me that I had to go back to Midgar,” she argues, running a hand through her hair. “And now you don’t want me to?”

“I want you to come home to Midgar, but not for Rufus. Charlie, he doesn’t love you—”

“Of course he loves me—”

“If he loved you, he wouldn’t be parading about with prostitutes. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have kept you prisoner. If he loved you—”

“Don’t say that!” she hisses, feeling very close to tears. “I would never expect you to understand.” Charlie moves very close to Cait Sith, anger surging through her. She feels sorry that she’s taking it all out on Reeve, but he’ll take it, just like he always has, too afraid to stand up to her. “Rufus is still my brother, and we have to look after each other. All my life, we’ve looked after each other, loved each other. I know that he isn’t perfect, and I know what he is, but I know that there’s good in him, and I know that he loves me.”

Cait Sith takes a long time to answer. “He’s using you, Charlie. He’s always been using you, if only to find a few minutes of pleasure for himself. It’s never been about you.”

“That’s not true.”

She knows it isn’t true. She knows that Rufus loves her. He’s told her so, and has been telling her so for her entire life. He’s greedy and rough with his touches sometimes, but he’s only lonely, and being a Shinra, there is no one he can trust more in the world than his own sister. 

And then the weight of his words suddenly dawns on her. “What did he tell you?” she asks in a hushed voice, suddenly very panicked. Had Rufus told Reeve the entire truth? “Did he say something to you?”

Cait Sith sighs. “Was it going on while we were together?”

“No,” she replies quickly, but it’s not entirely the truth, and Reeve deserves the truth now, even though it makes her heart beat really fast and her hands shake. “I . . .”

“It’s all right, Charlotte. You can tell me.”

“I can’t—”

“Why?”

“Because I’m ashamed.”

“You don’t have to feel ashamed with me. Please, Charlotte, just tell me. Was it going on the entire time we were together?”

She lowers her head. It’s over. Whatever Rufus has told him was probably mostly exaggerated, but now it’s out in the open. “A few kisses,” she answers. “Nothing more, not while we were together.”

Charlie can picture Reeve’s expression in her mind’s eye. She’s certain that he’s disgusted with her, repulsed, horrified. She has to make it better, has to say something to make him feel like she’s not the worst person in the entire world, kissing her own brother while engaged to another man. 

“Reeve, can I please talk to you?”

“You are already.”

“No, I mean . . . can you . . . do the thing that makes your voice come out of it?”

“Er—hang on.” It’s another minute or so before Cait Sith moves again, but when he does, his jaw hangs open and Reeve’s own voice filters through. “Is that better?”

She can’t help but smile, his voice knocking the wind out of her. “Yes,” she says, wishing he were here instead. “Can you see me? Or is it just Cait Sith who can see me?”

“No, it’s the both of us.”

Charlie nods. She wants Reeve to be able to see her, because it may not sound genuine enough just hearing her voice. She’s terrible at telling the truth, and she isn’t proud of it, but now may be the time to begin practicing. Inhaling deeply, she looks around to make sure no one is listening, and begins.

“Reeve, I am . . . _so_ sorry for the way that you’ve been treated, and it’s not just by my brother and my father.” She can’t imagine how difficult this would be if she was forced to look into his sweet, handsome face. “I have been so horrible to you—”

“Oh, Charlie, really, you don’t have to—”

“No,” she interrupts him, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “I need you to know that I’m sorry. You were always so sweet to me, so kind and warm and thoughtful and . . . I was selfish and vindictive and bitter and inconsiderate, and I didn’t want anyone else to have you, and—”

“Charlie, just—”

“No, I need you to listen to me! I need you to know! What if I don’t get another chance to tell you?” She watches Cait Sith for a moment, expecting him to protest, but he allows her to go on. “Everything that Barret said back there was true. That’s the kind of person I am, and how could someone like you ever want someone like me? How can you look at me and see anything other than my father’s awful legacy?”

“I don’t think any of it was true—”

He’ll have his chance to speak afterwards, but Charlie needs to get it all out right now. “I’m nothing more than my father’s greatest failure, in love with my brother and unable to do anything on my own. I wasted years of your life, trying to be the most . . . _perfect_ version of myself because I just wanted you to love me.”

“I did,” he tells her gently. “I _do._ ”

“I wish you did,” she tells him, remembering days long gone now, days when she was young and in love with the handsome new employee, trying to make herself seem older, wiser, _perfect._ “I never had the luxury to be myself. I had a reputation I needed to maintain, which was rather easy when the world would rather look at your face than hear the words coming out of your mouth.”

Cait Sith suddenly shakes his head, his mouth clamping shut as he shakes out all of his limbs. “Sorry, love, he’s gone for the mo’,” comes the accented voice, “things are a bit chaotic, if y’know what I mean.”

Charlie exhales loudly, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Even now, when she’s baring her heart and soul to him, he can’t make time for her. “Fine. Forget it, then.”

* * *

With the _Highwind_ nearing completion, Reeve begins to become anxious. 

With the _Highwind_ nearing completion, it means that Rufus will have the means to travel north, where Charlie, Cloud, and all of their friends will be heading in the hopes of meeting Sephiroth and putting an end to it all. 

Reeve has to believe that, if it came down to it, Charlie’s new friends would protect her from harm. He has to believe that they would try their hardest to keep her away from Rufus, to keep her from being brought back to Midgar, but he also knows that her inability to be honest and open with people isn’t helping her case, and with people like Barret still so indifferent towards her, Reeve can’t say with confidence that any of them are willing to die for her. 

Cid Highwind would die for her. 

The thought niggles at the back of his mind. As angry as the pilot makes him, Reeve knows he has no right to be angry with Charlie. They aren’t engaged anymore, and she doesn’t belong to him. She can do whatever she likes with whomever she likes, and it’s none of his business. 

Just like it always has been. 

He knows that she’s upset with him for leaving their serious conversation a few days ago, but that couldn’t be helped. Rufus had blindsided him, demanding information, slightly drunk. She had been right in the middle of a very heartfelt and heartbreaking confession, and _of course_ her brother had to spoil the moment, even unknowingly. 

But he had heard every word, heard her voice ringing in his head, and her sharp little _fine_ that made her sound like a petulant teenager again. And with her keeping her distance, he’s been able to think about things. 

He spends a long time wondering if he’s ever known any part of Charlie’s “real self”, and he thinks he has. Those moments had been very numbered, and whenever she would catch herself in her moment of vulnerability, she would immediately clamp up and change the subject deftly, putting on one of her camera smiles to assure him everything was completely fine, and there was nothing wrong at all so he needn’t worry about her one bit. 

He can’t deny that it _is_ odd to see her with Cloud and the others. Reeve has always known her as President Shinra’s daughter and Rufus Shinra’s sister, because no one would ever let him forget it. Since meeting her, he’s known her to be a very charismatic and happy youth in spite of everything. 

To some people, having the Turks as their primary caregivers might have sucked the fun out of everything, but Charlie had made the most of it, had accepted love from anyone who was willing to give it, no matter who they were or the things they were responsible for. 

And to see her now, to see her interact with other people who don’t expect her to keep up that act . . . to see her so humble, so insecure, so defeated and exhausted and despairing . . . Reeve wonders if that’s how she’s felt her entire life, finally comfortable enough to express that without the expectations of her family weighing on her. 

It amazes him, as well, how long and how well she had managed to keep up that facade.

It was easy for her to smile and keep going. Perhaps she was right. That was all the people wanted to see of her. They didn’t care how she felt. They didn’t care about her sadness, her hurt, her pain. They wanted Charlotte Shinra to smile, to laugh, to flip her hair and look pretty, and it was easier to laugh than to try and convince them her feelings mattered. 

It’s why the dirty magazines sold better than the ones where she talked engineering jargon. 

It’s why her father put _her_ in front of the camera instead of himself or Heidegger or Rufus. 

But Reeve can’t help her unless she wants him to. It’s a painful revelation, but an honest one. 

There’s nothing he can do unless she decides to open up to him, and after the terrible way their last conversation ended, he doesn’t think she’ll be opening up to him anytime soon. 

In regards to her other request, however, Reeve has learned a bit more. 

After digging through company records for hours by himself, he hadn’t come upon any report that included SOLDIER First Class Cloud Strife. If there _had_ been a record about him, it seems to have been removed from the company completely, but he’s not the only one. 

There had been nothing about Zack in those files, either, and out of complete curiosity, Reeve found himself looking up anything in regards to Angeal, Genesis, and Sephiroth. 

There had been nothing of interest on any of them, only reports that mentioned them in passing, years before any of them became aware of anything. Angeal’s records stop after he had been assigned to a mission in Wutai, but Reeve knows that Tseng had access to the information about Charlie’s SOLDIER, so there _must_ be _something_ around the massive Shinra Building that will clue him into Cloud’s identity. 

Charlie hadn’t been pleased with that answer, but she hadn’t blamed him, either. She knows as well as he does that many of Shinra’s darker secrets had likely died with her father. 

He’ll have to plan another trip to Junon soon. Perhaps Tseng will have some more information.

* * *

“What the hell is this place?”

“Modeoheim,” Cait Sith answers him. “An abandoned town now, but Shinra scientists used to live here when it was still a mako extraction sight.”

“Stop,” Charlie commands them all, before Cait Sith even finishes his sentence. 

Cid turns around, along with the rest of their party, to stare at her. The snow is coming down hard now, her cheeks and the tip of her nose all pink, fat snowflakes melting in her hair and on her eyelashes. “Somethin’ wrong, Lottie?”

“We gotta keep moving,” Cloud insists, turning back around and making to go around the ghost town. “Or else we’ll never make it through the storm.”

“Please,” Charlie says again, looking desperate. “Can’t we stay here tonight?”

“There ain’t nothin’ here, honey,” Cid tells her. It’s probably better if she hears it from him than Barret. “We’ll get snowed in. Let’s keep movin’, okay? It’s too cold to be sleepin’ in a place without any heat.”

He doesn’t miss the way she looks to Cait Sith, as if hoping for him to appeal to Cloud on her behalf. The cat sighs and squeezes the fluffy body of his moogle. “Maybe she’s right,” he says. “At least there’s shelter here, and we’ve been walkin’ through all this snow for hours, and we don’t wanna be caught up in a storm with nowhere around for miles.”

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Tifa asks, looking around at the rusty old town they’ve come upon. “Charlie, what’s here?”

“I bet there’s some materia hidden around here,” Yuffie adds. “Right, Charlie?”

“Maybe,” Charlie admits carefully.

“We ain’t got time to fuck around!” Barret says in a rough and gruff voice. “It’s freezin’ out here, and we still got a ways to go!”

“Please.” This time, Charlie appeals directly to Cloud, placing her hands together like she’s praying. She must want this real bad, but Cid can’t say he understands what it is about this place that Charlie likes so much. “Cloud, I’m asking you. _Please._ ”

In the end, Cloud agrees, and no one protests when they find shelter from the snow. 

They all gather in an empty warehouse to start a fire and rest and eat, but Charlie doesn’t join them. She goes off on her own the first minute she gets, slipping away from them before anyone even notices that she’s gone. No one really seems to worry, but after a few hours, Cid can’t take it anymore. 

“Fuck it. I’m gonna go find Lottie,” he announces to no one in particular, standing up, putting his boots back on, bundling up, and heading back out into the storm. 

He follows her footprints and finds her in a big empty room of an old bathhouse, kneeling on the ground with her back to him and swiping snow aside. The snow still falls on her hunched shoulders here, what with the collapsed roof above her, the stars out in force to decorate the pitch black night sky. 

Cid watches her for a moment from the doorway. Every so often she sniffles or coughs hoarsely into her elbow, coming down with a cold. She’s been sniffling for days now, but hasn’t complained about it. He admires her for it, especially when she continues to walk with them despite looking dead on her feet, always sleeping soundly through the nights. 

“What’cha doin’ out here all by your lonesome, little lady?”

Charlie starts with a gasp, looking over her shoulder at him. When he walks forward slowly, her look of surprise turns to a small smile. 

“You’re gonna get even sicker.” Despite this, he kneels beside her, in the thin layer of snow on the ground. “So what’s your deal with this place? You been here before?”

“No, it’s my first time.” She wipes the pink tip of her nose with her sleeve. 

“Then why was it so important for us to stop here?”

Charlie brushes her hand over the floor in front of her, pulling away after a moment to cradle her hand to her chest. Cid looks down. The floor looks stained here, a dark stain that looks like old blood. 

It takes her a long time to speak. She looks contemplative, occasionally glancing at him as if unsure whether to speak at all. But finally, she does. 

“Eight years ago, I met a SOLDIER First Class.”

He listens quietly. 

“I thought the world of him,” she says, splaying her hands against her thighs. Even her fingers are pink and wet from the snow. “When he couldn’t call me, he would write me letters with all of the new pictures he had taken. I would spend hours in the training room watching him.” Her lips curl into a smile. “He was from Banora, and once, after coming back from visiting his mother, he brought a whole sack of dumbapples and demanded that I try one. It was the first time I ever saw one in my life.”

“Like in Wutai.”

“Like in Wutai,” she repeats warmly, nodding. “I still have the last picture he ever sent me.”

“So he was your boyfriend?”

“No, not really. We never kissed or talked about our plans for the future. We never really even said we liked each other in words. At least . . . not to each other.” She sounds sad saying it. “I was over the moon for him, and he promised to take me on a real date one day, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

“He did what soldiers do.” Charlie lifts her head and looks right at him. “He was sent on a mission and never came home.”

Maybe that explains why she’s so fucking flighty all the time. But what the hell does this have to do with some ruined old bathhouse?

“The official reports read that he was killed in action, but . . . a few weeks ago, I . . .” She clears away some more of the snow that’s gathered on the ground. “I learned terrible things. Tseng showed me the report he wrote himself, showed me reports about the horrible experiments that made Angeal . . . and the truth . . .”

“The truth?”

“That he was killed here, in Modeoheim, months after he defected and went missing, by another SOLDIER First Class,” she continues, slightly hesitant. “It’s all classified information, of course, but Angeal was a product of the Jenova Project, like Sephiroth.”

That’s a fucking lot to unpack. Cid feels like her life must have been exciting if her first love had been someone comparable to fucking _Sephiroth_. He knows she doesn’t mean to hurt him, but _goddamnit_ she knows how to make a man feel small.

“It was like he never even existed after that. No one talked about him, or reminisced about him. But Tseng and I, we remembered.” She lowers her head. “And now . . . _I_ remember.”

He doesn’t even know what to say, but maybe she just wants him to listen.

“Sorry,” she whispers, swiping the tears out of her eyes. “It feels good to talk about it.”

“Then keep talkin’. I’ll listen. Whatever you want.” 

Charlie looks at him again, considering him, sizing him up. She could eat him alive if she wanted to, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop her. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Angeal had a sword,” she explains, looking very troubled. “It was given to him by his father, he said, and he hardly ever used it.”

“What’s so funny ‘bout that?” Cid asks.

“Well, it’s the same sword that Cloud uses.”

He blinks at her for a minute. “I don’t follow, honey.”

“Cid . . .” She sighs heavily. “Never mind. I shouldn’t, I’m sorry.”

Cid bristles, understanding _that_ clear enough. “Company secrets, huh?” he hisses, feeling guilty for his surging anger, but unable to stop it. “But you and that fuckin’ spy seem to get along just fine, always whisperin’ when you think no one’s lookin’.”

“What are you saying?” Charlie snaps back, quickly getting defensive. 

“Whose side are you really on anyway?”

He expects her to answer right away, to attempt to distance herself from the company, but she hesitates. 

“Company girl through and through, ain't you?”

Cid can’t really explain why it makes him so fucking mad. Maybe he’s just tired. They’ve been through a lot in the past week or so. She doesn’t even dispute it, and it makes him angrier. 

“The Shinra company is all I’ve known, Cid. I am so sorry. But you’ve known that. I’ve never hidden that from you.”

He scoffs, which only angers _her_. “I told you years ago that your brother was unhinged. It’s still true. Dunno how you can’t see that.”

“Cid, please . . . I don’t want to fight with you right now.”

Despite his anger, it’s strange to hear her accept defeat. When she looks at him again, her eyes look pretty heavy. Cid lifts a hand to touch her bright red cheeks, her forehead. Her skin is fire beneath his fingertips.

“Holy shit, Lottie,” he breathes, suddenly flooded with concern. “You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’m okay.”

He holds her gaze for a moment, but doesn’t believe her. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much to convince her to come back to camp. 

* * *

“ _Damn_ , Charlie. You don’t look so hot.” 

Cloud pushes Yuffie gently away from Charlie. “There’s a village a few miles north of here. Think you’ll be able to make it?”

It takes Charlie a moment to answer Cloud. Her eyes are glazed over as she stares at him, oblivious to the rest of their party, all watching on. “I’m fine,” she says hoarsely. “Let’s keep going.”

Charlie leaves the warehouse with Tifa and Nanaki. They all filter out until it’s just Cid and Yuffie left. “She’s not gonna make it,” Yuffie scoffs, giving the air a few rapid punches. “But I’m impressed she made it this far.”

* * *

Cid pulls Charlie along by the hand, clearing a path through the snow for her. They move a little slower than the rest of the party, but Vincent and Cait Sith linger with them, just to make sure they don’t lose Charlie along the way. 

“Lottie, honey, you good?”

“Never been better.”

“I appreciate the effort, kiddo, but you gotta tell me the truth now.”

“Really, I’m okay. We’re almost there. Don’t worry about me.”

“Ah,” Cid sighs, smiling weakly down at her, “can’t help that.”

* * *

“Sign says one more mile.” Barret turns around to look at Cid and Charlie in the distance. “Gonna make it, Shinra?”

Charlie doesn’t answer. She stumbles, releases Cid’s hand, and falls face forward into the snow. 

“Lottie!”

Everyone circles around her, and Barret sighs heavily, flipping her over in the snow. Her eyes are closed, snow all over her lashes, lips chapped and slightly parted. 

Vincent presses fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. “Once she’s somewhere warm, she’ll be fine. She’s feverish.”

“Oh, man,” Yuffie says, looming over Charlie. “That’s just _sad_. I wish I had a camera. Are we just gonna leave her here or what?”

“We can’t just _leave_ her here,” Cait Sith says quickly, exasperated. “Are you crazy?”

“Well are we just gonna stand here or what?” Cid hisses. 

“I swear she did this on purpose,” Barret grumbles, picking her up with one arm like a ragdoll, throwing her over his shoulder. “Leave it to _Miss Shinra_ to hitch a ride while we’re all walkin’.”

“Well,” Cid stammers, folding his arms over his chest, “you know, I could’a carried her, too.”

“Relax, Captain. She ain’t awake to be impressed by your feats of strength right now.”

Tifa giggles behind her hand. 

“Okay, okay,” Cid snaps, blushing heatedly, “that’s enough.”

“Let’s go already!” Cait Sith protests, hopping forward. “We gotta get her to a doctor.”

Barret shrugs his shoulder, shifting Charlie. “She’ll be fine,” he answers. “I ain’t gonna let the death of the vice president hang on my conscience. Got too much hangin’ there already.”

“Sounds like someone’s warming to her,” Nanaki teases, looping along after Cait Sith. 

“She’s good entertainment sometimes, that’s it. Good for a laugh. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Barret, why wouldn’t you tell her you think she’s funny?” Tifa asks, still giggling as she adjusts the scarf that’s slipping from around Charlie’s neck. “She would like to hear it. I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet!” Barret roars, but everyone laughs at him. Cid finds the laughter pulled from him without his consent, and even Vincent’s shoulders shake slightly. “I’ll show y’all the meaning of _sweet!_ ”

Cloud blocks Barret’s progress, hands on his hips. There’s an amused smile playing at his lips. 

“You got somethin’ to say, SOLDIER?” Barret asks stiffly. 

Cloud shrugs, shaking his head. “Just taking a mental picture of the situation, is all.”

It only serves to make them laugh harder.

Cid only wishes Charlie was awake to share the laughter with them. 


	54. Chapter 54

The doctor is a man in his mid-fifties, looking down at his clipboard like he’s so damn busy, like Charlie isn’t the only goddamn person in the tiny shack they call a “doctor’s office” here. 

The first floor is a small lobby, while a few rooms are on the second floor for patients. There isn’t as much technology here, so far removed from civilization, and most of the technology they _do_ have seems dated to hell. It makes him nervous, knowing that Charlie isn’t going to have access to great medical care here, so he hopes the illness isn’t something too bad. 

“Is there someone among you that will be able to arrange direct transportation back to the eastern continent?”

It’s only after the fact that Cid considers it may have been a decent idea to keep Cloud around, since he’s their leader and all. Instead, while Cloud and his buddies went off to ask after information, Cid had remained in the doctor’s office with Cait Sith and Vincent. 

He knows they probably look like a dangerous and odd party, which is probably why the doctor is so reluctant to give them any information regarding Charlie’s status. 

Cid and Cait Sith turn to look at each other. Thankfully, Vincent is the one to speak up, one hand on his hip and ready to be done with this place, it seems.

“Why would we need to arrange transportation?”

The doctor blinks behind square-shaped glasses, eyeing the three of them warily and lowering his clipboard. “She’s the vice president, and running a high fever. Whatever lies to the north, I’m certain that you can manage it without her. She should be brought back to Midgar, where she’ll be able to recover more comfortably.”

“You’re a doctor, ain’t you?” Cid asks, huffing as he folds his arms across his chest. “Can’t you just give her some medicine to break the fever?”

“She’s suffering from a viral infection. We gave her medicine to reduce the fever, yes, but otherwise, it must run its course.” The doctor sighs, looking at the three of them again before consulting his clipboard. Cid doesn’t like the way his brow furrows, or the way the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his fat lips. “In addition to the infection, she’s malnourished, underweight for a typical twenty-seven-year-old her height, and her body is covered in wounds and bruises.”

It takes Cid a moment to understand where the doctor’s going with this, unused to encountering trouble in regards to locals. 

“What are you saying?” Cait Sith asks sharply, and there’s not a doubt in Cid’s mind that it’s the Shinra spy speaking now, not the toy cat. “You’re not accusing _us_ of doing that, are you?”

The doctor begins to sweat at his hairline, splotches of color appearing in his sallow cheeks. “You must understand that I have an obligation to my patients, and I must be concerned about the state the vice president is in, which is why I am asking, very kindly, whether or not transportation can be arranged.”

“Uh,” Cid scoffs, looking to his left at Cait and then at Vincent, on his right. “Listen, doc, the vice president ain’t goin’ back to Midgar.”

“You can’t be serious!” the doctor replies quickly, sweating profusely now as he takes a few steps backwards, blocking the stairs that lead to Charlie’s room on the second floor. 

Vincent steps forward with a flash of his red cloak, swishing it just enough to show off the handsome handgun at his hip. “I don’t think you’re really in a position to bargain for the vice president with us,” he tells the doctor. “No transportation will be called, and the vice president will be leaving with us when she feels able.”

_Holy shit,_ Cid can’t help but think, _you fucking idiot, he’s gonna think we’re kidnapping the vice president._

“Are you—are you _threatening_ me, sir?” the doctor asks nervously, bracing himself in the doorway of the stairwell. “Who do you think you are?”

“Vincent Valentine, of Shinra’s Turks.”

The blood in the doctor’s face drains instantly, and he lowers his hands to his sides and straightens up. From the breast pocket of his checkered shirt, he withdraws a yellowed handkerchief, mopping at his damp forehead. “Forgive me,” he stammers, “I—I had no idea she was traveling with a Turk.”

Without waiting for an answer, Vincent hides the gun at his hip again and walks up the stairs, meeting no resistance. Cid goes to follow, but the doctor blocks his passage again.

“One at a time, please,” the doctor tells him hurriedly. “It’s a small room, and she’s sleeping.”

Not wanting to make things any worse for Charlie, Cid agrees to those terms, just glad she won’t be alone anymore. He and Cait Sith leave the stifling office, hit all at once by an icy blast of wind that drives snow into his eyes and mouth. With the sun shining for longer this far north, he can’t really be sure what time it is, but it must be nearing evening because his stomach is fucking aching for some food. 

“That’s bullshit,” he announces the minute the door to the clinic closes behind him. “Charlie would’a wanted me in there.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Cait Sith replies in his usual, casual manner. “Other people care ‘bout Charlie. It’s not just you.”

Cid feels himself color around his collar. The two of them linger just outside the building. The snow isn’t coming down so hard anymore, but the wind still whips at him and makes his ears burn with cold. 

“I know that!” In order to hide his frustrations, he takes it out on the cat. “Who are you anyway?”

“No one you know,” the cat snaps right back. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cid fuckin’ Highwind, dumbass pilot, doesn’t know shit, huh? The hell would someone like _me_ know, right?” Cid huffs childishly, leaning against the wall of the building and pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket. “How do we know you ain’t callin’ up the actual Turks right now to put a bounty on her head?”

“I’m not going to do that. I have no say in what the Turks do.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you. And I ain’t lettin’ any Shinra _fucks_ take her back to Midgar, got it?”

Damn it feels good to be angry at someone who deserves it. 

“The doctor was right. She’s the vice president. She has to come back to Midgar eventually. She has a company to run.”

“And what if she doesn’t wanna go back?”

“Then she’ll continue to be hunted by the president and the Turks. She’d have to go into hiding, which would be nearly impossible with Shinra’s widespread influence, and even with her not knowing Shinra’s most classified secrets, she would be a high-security risk.” Cait Sith tilts his head slightly. “Shinra Electric Power Company is a criminal enterprise, and you should know that by now. High-ranking executives, such as herself, would not be allowed to walk away so easily. It is her duty, as vice president, to care for the people of Midgar, not to hide away.”

“How’s that fair to her?” Cid counters, blowing his cigarette smoke in the cat’s direction. He fucking hates looking at that stuffed moogle, always looking back at him with dead eyes. Is he angry on Charlie’s behalf, or for his own selfish reasons? 

“It’s _not_ fair to her,” Cait Sith agrees quietly. Cid still isn’t used to hearing the toy speak so formally. “But that is what has always been expected of her, and she’s known that since she was a child.”

_What a shitty way to live, knowing you’re nothing more than an object for the people to gawk at, to derive hope and happiness from._ _It was never just the weight of her father’s expectations on her shoulders . . . it was the weight of the entire world’s expectations of her._

Cid sighs, looking up into the party cloudy sky, wondering what lies beyond the distant mountains to the north. 

_She’s known the only escape from that life is death. That’s why she’s here, isn’t it? Because she knows it’s a fucking suicide mission?_ _Because she’d rather die with people who genuinely care about her than live the rest of her life in Midgar as a puppet?_

Whatever fantasy he’s built up in his head of a relationship between him and Charlie suddenly seems like it’s crashing all around him. She knows the possibility of death hangs heavy over her, and he wonders if the entire journey has just been one big, last good-bye for her, one last pilgrimage for her to experience life as it could have been, had she been anyone else in the world. 

Is he supposed to encourage that? Is he supposed to walk her to her death? Is he supposed to be _happy_ for her? Why has she been dancing around her fucking feelings for weeks if she knows she’s just going to die at the end of this journey? When did she make this decision? When did she come to this conclusion? Before the Turk died? After?

Is she even going to fight for herself? Is she even going to give herself a goddamn fighting chance?

Cid drops his half-smoked cigarette in the snow. It sizzles when it lands, just before going out completely. “No,” he decides, “I ain’t gonna let that happen.”

“What?”

“If she wants to go north, then fine, I think we should let her. I think we shouldn’t let other people make decisions for her anymore.” Cid thinks for a moment, tries not to picture a near future where the vice president is dead. “But I ain’t gonna let her die.”

“And what do you think will happen after that?”

_She’ll go back to Midgar and forget I even exist until the next time she needs a cheap thrill._

“Fuck if I know,” he answers, leaving the cat behind as he crosses back towards the inn. 

* * *

“Mr. President, I really think this is a terrible idea—”

With his back to Reeve, he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning around and putting on a charming smile. “Director, I appreciate your outward concern for me, but I’m not going to change my mind.”

“The very knowledge that Professor Hojo has returned to witness this phenomenon doesn’t bother you?” Reeve continues, following him into the hangar proper and towards the helicopter that will take him to Junon, to oversee the last preparations until the _Highwind_ takes flight. “Midgar cannot risk the loss of both its president _and_ vice president.”

Truthfully, the very idea that Professor Hojo felt welcome enough to waltz right into the Shinra building seeking re-employment _had_ thrown Rufus slightly off guard, but in the end, he had thought it better to keep the madman close in order to keep an eye on him. Then again, Rufus was only mildly surprised. Hojo had only prospered with Shinra’s help, and likely found life boring without access to the latest technologies. 

And as for Char . . . 

Rufus had allowed her to slip through his fingers once before, but not this time. He has no intention of allowing any harm to befall her at the hands of whatever creatures await them in the north. Her friends may be willing to defend her, but they will die if it comes down to that, wholly unable to stand against the force of the Shinra Electric Power Company. 

Doesn’t she realize that he’s only trying to keep her safe? Doesn’t she realize that he hasn’t replaced her yet because he thinks she has the potential to be a very decent vice president?

Not that she’ll have that much power, but Char doesn’t need to know that. He’ll allow her a little taste, enough for her to believe that she’s on relatively equal footing to him. It’s always been easier to make her believe she holds the power, to make her believe that she isn’t subject to critical scrutiny, to make her believe she’s important and respected. 

It will be easier than ever this time.

She will be broken, surely, after Tseng’s death, and will return to Midgar the husk of the girl she used to be. It will be so easy for Rufus to repair her shattered heart, to seal it with soft kisses and tender confessions, to use Tseng’s memory and love for her as a bargaining chip, to shape her into a vice president by rebuilding her from the ground up. 

“Director, please,” he says, holding up a hand to stop Reeve from going on. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop now. I’ve heard you out, now leave.”

“What are you going to do to Charlotte?”

Rufus bristles, grinding his teeth, moving closer to Reeve. “Excuse me?” Reeve doesn’t falter, nor flinch. He stands his ground, hands held behind his back, looking down into Rufus’s eyes. “Exactly what are you implying, Director?”

“Forgive me,” Reeve replies, inclining his head very slightly. Rufus feels his blood pressure suddenly shoot through the roof. “I only want everything to be adequately prepared for her return.”

Scoffing, Rufus allows himself a smile. It’s enough to make Reeve smile tersely in return. “I’ve already ordered a cell to be prepared for her in Junon,” he explains, hoping for a reaction, for a rise to the bait. “She’s a criminal, Reeve, and a traitor. Am I to be lenient with her because she is beautiful? Because she is my sister?”

“If I may at least offer some advice—”

“You may not.” Rufus claps a hand to Reeve’s shoulder and lowers his voice, dropping all pretense now. “If you fucking tell her I’m coming, she _will_ bear the consequences for your treason, Director Tuesti.”

Reeve hesitates, nodding and averting his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Rufus gives the director a solid push backwards, moving towards the helicopter again, thinking it all over.

Now that she’ll want nothing to do with Reeve, it will be easy. He’s not going to let her leave again. He’s not going to go through that again. And if she chooses not to comply, then Rufus will proceed with any measures he deems necessary.

If he can’t have her, then no one will. 

* * *

She dreams of her father, of a memory buried a long time ago.

It’s a memory she hasn’t thought about in years, simply because she hasn’t wanted to remember. 

Rufus had been fifteen for no more than two months, and President Shinra had left them for a confidential business-trip which, he claimed, would take weeks. Leaving Rufus behind, however, had been proof enough that their father was only going to meet with one of his whores, to roll around in bed with some woman who only cared about his money.

It had been three-and-a-half weeks since their father left Midgar. Their resident Turk had fallen asleep on the sofa, drunk, and wouldn’t wake until morning. They were lonely and neglected and unloved children, unaware of the severity of their actions, unaware of the implications, wanting to feel wanted and understood for a few minutes. 

Even at fifteen, Rufus had taken what he wanted like he was already a grown man, confident in his movements and speech, pushing boundaries and using his charm to coerce certain answers from her. 

All of that charm and confidence had been drained from him that night, however, the night their father returned in a drunken rage, unhappy to be back in the home where his children lived and far away from whatever slut he was fucking. 

Charlie dreams of her father lumbering into the bedroom, picking up a half-naked Rufus by the throat, and throwing him to the floor. 

“ _I’ll kill you, boy!_ ”

Rufus hadn’t even defended himself, not even when the belt slapped against his bare skin, causing welts to pop up and bruises to tinge his pale flesh, splitting his lip and making him scream out in pain. 

When Charlie had tried to stop her father from beating him, she had received an elbow to the stomach, and was subject to a slew of names that were typically reserved for their mother. 

She dreams of screaming herself hoarse, begging her father not to kill Rufus, begging her father to stop hurting him. 

And then she wakes, cold metal against the sweaty skin of her arm, shaking her gently. 

In the dim orange light of the dying fire, Vincent’s milky face appears quite vividly against his dark hair and faded red cloak. 

Charlie finds she’s too tired to move, despite waking in a completely unfamiliar room. She’s been changed into some loose-fitting clothing, sweat dripping down her chest and the back of her neck, but mostly due to the fever breaking and not the content of her dream. 

It’s too easy to remember the way Rufus had looked after that beating, hardly able to move off the floor of his own bedroom, black and blue and swollen and bleeding all over, breathing very raggedly with his eyes closed. 

That had happened because of her. 

She shakes the lingering feelings of guilt off for the moment.

“Where am I?” she rasps. 

“A clinic in Icicle Inn,” Vincent answers, pulling his gauntlet away from her arm. “You were talking in your sleep.”

Charlie blushes, picking at the blanket draped over her legs. “Did I say anything embarrassing?”

There’s a pause that makes her nervous. “No.”

She groans. She definitely said something embarrassing, probably giving away her relationship with Rufus, and yet she can’t help but feel glad that it was only Vincent instead of Cid or Cait Sith. “Have they all left without us?”

“No, they’re still here.” Vincent shifts in his chair, putting some distance between them again. 

“Then what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head slightly, opening his mouth to speak and then pursing his thin lips together. “I have reason to believe the doctor may have drugged you in order to keep you from going any further north with us.”

“I was _drugged_ —”

“It was well-intentioned.”

“Did you at least rough him up a little bit?”

“Should I have?”

“Well, aren’t you a T—” Charlie stops abruptly, looking away from him. Of course he’s a Turk, no matter what he insists. You don’t ever _stop_ being a Turk, and she’s known that since she was very small. But that doesn’t mean she should expect Vincent to continue to do “Turk things” on _her_ behalf. “What are you really doing here?”

“The doctor let me up when I told him I was a Turk.”

“Does being a Turk make you incredibly stupid and dense?” she snaps, immediately regretting it, though Vincent remains stoic. He almost reminds her of Tseng, which makes her sad. “I meant, what are _you_ doing _here_ with _me?_ ”

“I . . .” Vincent sighs, visibly uncomfortable. “Should I leave?”

Truthfully, Charlie doesn’t want him to leave. There’s something comforting about his presence, and she knows why. She isn’t stupid. “No,” she says. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I guess it’s rather fitting that _you_ would be here.”

“Why?”

Charlie looks at him again, wishing that he was someone else. She feels bad, but suspects that Vincent already knows who she wishes were here instead. “Whenever I was younger and woke in the hospital, Veld would typically be there with me.”

“How are you feeling?”

“You’re not very sentimental, are you?”

“My apologies. I hope I don’t come across as cold.”

They look at each other for a long time. Charlie isn’t quite sure if he’s joking or not, narrowing her eyes at him. If it was a joke, surely he would be laughing. “Veld liked you, didn’t he?”

“I like to think so,” Vincent replies, his mouth twitching. “I found something on my search of the village, and I would like to show you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Despite the fact that she’s still feeling a little dizzy, Charlie can’t deny that it would feel nice to stand on her own feet again, to stretch her legs. “An adventure, huh?” she smiles.

“We would have to get past the nurse at the desk downstairs.”

“How difficult would that be?” 

“Not difficult at all. I have a better idea, and it’s one that you might enjoy.”

“Like what?”

Vincent doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands up and crosses the room to the window nearest the fireplace, where a few flames continue to flicker. He unlocks it and pushes it open quickly, letting in an icy gust of wind that hardly seems to faze him. He brushes the stray snowflakes off his chest and turns to look at Charlie again, eyebrows raised and hidden underneath his bandanna. 

“You want to sneak out the second story window?” Charlie asks slowly. 

“It would keep from alerting anyone that you’re missing, and what I mean to show you is something I would prefer to keep quiet until you see it for yourself.”

“What if they come up to check on me and see that I’m not in my bed and you’re missing?”

“She won’t come up. She’s terrified of me.”

Charlie thinks for a moment, but can think of no other reason to refuse him. His desire to leave via the window is indicative of how important this is to him, and she throws the blanket off her legs. “Okay. We’ll leave through the win—hey! _Vincent!_ Don’t leave me here!”

He jumps out the window like he’s been doing it for his entire life. She hurries to peer outside, only to find that he’s perfectly fine, standing on his feet and looking up at her. “Let’s go,” he hisses up at her. 

“Damn it,” she whispers to herself, pulling her head back into the room and groping around blindly for warm clothes to put on over her sweat-soaked t-shirt and the cotton shorts someone had put on her. 

When she’s ready, she looks out the window again, glad to see Vincent still waiting for her, a hand on his hip as he looks around at the snowy scenery. 

“Kind of high, don’t you think?” she whisper-yells down to him.

“Just do what I did.”

Charlie sighs, pursing her lips. She doesn’t think her exasperation reaches him fully. “I’m just supposed to jump through the window?”

“It’s not high. I’ll catch you.”

Perhaps it’s the illness that pushes her to the windowsill. It’s not terribly high, but if she lands wrong, she could still break something. “I’m scared,” she admits, unsure why _this_ seems impossible after all she’s done in the past few weeks. “I’m scared to jump. Vincent, I can’t—”

“I’ll catch you,” he says, holding his arms out and creeping closer to the side of the clinic. 

“Vincent—”

“Charlotte,” he says, somehow able to be firm and gentle at the same time, just like someone else she used to know, someone who called her by her full name, “trust me.”

Charlie inhales deep and holds her breath, knowing that she has to do it. She leaps from the windowsill and the cold air is painful against her face, but it’s over within seconds, and she lands perfectly within Vincent’s arms like she’s nothing more than a child. 

“It’s going to be a lot faster if I carry you,” he tells her, and Charlie can feel the sharp, metal fingers of his gauntlet shifting against her leg. “Hold on to me.”

“Wait, what?”

Before she’s able to find a firm grip in the front of his cloak, Vincent’s feet leave the ground. She almost screams before remembering they’re on some kind of stealth mission, instead clinging to his neck as he leaps away from the building, leaping so far and so fast that they could be flying, and even Charlie knows that this isn’t normal. 

His feet hardly leave indentations in the snow, touching down only slightly before they’re in the air again, light as a feather. Charlie looks down, watching the scenery around her change in a blur of white moonlight. The wind stings her face, makes her cheeks and nose numb, and tears build at the corners of her eyes. 

Turks aren’t like SOLDIERs, enhanced by mako or Jenova cells. Turks go through rigorous training, but she’s _never_ seen any Turk move with such speed and agility. This is power and abilities that she’s never seen on someone like him, and it frightens her. 

When Vincent sets her down gently outside of a small, dark home, Charlie’s legs are trembling horribly. “What the _hell_ are you?” she hisses at him, watching him pick the lock on the front door with the middle finger of his gauntlet. “Vincent, stop! What is your problem?”

She reaches out to stop him, but Vincent bats her hands away and they struggle for a moment. “Stop. Charlotte, stop it.”

“ _You_ stop it! You brought me here to break into somebody’s house?”

“No one lives here anymore.”

The lock clicks and the door swings inward. Vincent disappears into the darkness within and Charlie hesitates, following him after deciding that he wouldn’t willingly lead her into a trap.

She has to walk down a few stairs into an open area that resembles something more akin to a lab than a home, with several monitors and machines set up around the walls that still blink and flash and give off light. Vincent flips a flickering yellow light on above them, moving to one of the monitors and tapping a few buttons. 

The place looks like it has been untouched for years. Everything, including the very floor, is covered in a thick layer of dust that makes Charlie’s throat feel scratchy. She steps up to Vincent’s side. 

“Watch,” he instructs her, gesturing to the closest monitor and glancing over his shoulder towards the door again. With a final pressing of a red button, a video is pulled up. 

The video shows the interior of the home, and Charlie tries to find where the camera is located, but it seems to have been removed a long time ago. 

“Oh! Look!” she gasps, pointing to the screen as two people come into view. “That looks like Aerith!”

“Just watch,” he urges her again.

So she does, and with every passing second, she can feel the horror settling in her heart, in her consciousness. 

Professor Gast and Aerith’s beautiful birth mother, discussing private information regarding the study of the calamity that fell from the sky, Jenova, the two-thousand-year-old specimen that appeared to the Ancients in the form of their dead loved ones, infecting them all with a virus to destroy their settlements and wipe out the true natives of the planet until it was confined by the remaining Ancients. 

Videos and recordings compiled involve talk of the planet’s defense systems, things called “Weapons” that are produced by a strong enough will of the very earth she’s standing upon, a planet unable to fully heal itself so long as Jenova lives. 

It’s a terrifying thought. As little as she knows about Jenova, she’s been able to piece together more and more information over the weeks. Like the fact that SOLDIERs were injected with Jenova cells in the hopes of creating some kind of super soldier with no regards to their physical, mental, or emotional health. 

The next video Vincent shows her is labeled “ten days old” and a dry sob escapes Charlie forcibly at the sight of a small bundle on the screen, a baby with loving parents that decide to name her Aerith. 

The last video is one titled “twenty days old” and Charlie finds herself rather excited to see the little family. 

“. . . don’t say that!” Professor Gast’s voice is not like she expected. He doesn’t seem half the mad scientist that many Shinra employees would claim, but Charlie had been too young to really know him at all, so she had always been unable to dispute that fact. “I’ll protect you and Aerith no matter what!”

In spite of everything, she can’t help but envy Aerith and her doting father. She knows that this will not have a happy ending, as everything in the home is abandoned, Ifalna is dead, and now Aerith has joined her. It’s selfish to think of her own father now, but Charlie can’t help but wonder if her father had ever truly felt any sort of true protective instincts towards her.

Any thought of President Shinra is quickly wiped from her mind, however, as someone knocks on the front door in the video, and she feels her heart stop.

It’s horrible, being forced to watch, but she can’t look away from the recordings as Shinra troops storm Professor Gast’s home, accompanied by a much younger-looking Professor Hojo. The camera is deactivated with a few bullets before anything happens, but there’s still audio, and Charlie’s hand covers her mouth as she listens to the last minutes of Professor Gast’s life. 

She doesn’t know what to say afterwards as the silence settles heavily over them. It’s an uncomfortable silence, an accusing one, though Charlie isn’t sure what Vincent is really accusing her _of._

“I am unaware of the degree of your involvement with your father’s company,” Vincent begins after a short while, “and it is because I know you that I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but . . .”

Charlie hardly hears him. She doesn’t care what he thinks. He doesn’t know what the company has been up to while he’s been sleeping, hiding away from the world in order to save himself from the never-ending guilt he feels. 

“Hojo knew the entire time,” she tells no one in particular, running her hands through her hair and grabbing fistfuls of it. “Professor Gast knew . . . Angeal, he . . . he was a monster . . . Jenova . . .” Looking up at Vincent, she stumbles backwards and into a table. It slides across the floor, scraping the dusty wood. “Are you . . . do you have . . . did you . . . ?”

“I tried to stop Lucrecia from using her unborn son, Sephiroth—”

“No, no, I don’t believe you—”

“Shh!”

She can hardly hear over the pounding of her heart and heavy breathing, but she can hear someone at the door. Part of her wonders if this is how Professor Gast and Ifalna felt, but Charlie doesn’t fear when Vincent moves to the door, pressing his back to the wall and drawing his gun, cocking it as slowly and quietly as he can while the lock clicks again and the door creaks open. 

It all happens so quickly that she can’t stop it. As soon as Elena moves into the home, Vincent springs from behind her, forcing her to the ground with one of his knees digging into her back and her wrists held together, his free hand holding his gun to the back of her head. 

“Gods, Vincent! Let her up! It’s all right!” Charlie screams, unsure of how much more she can take tonight, kneeling at Elena’s side as she groans and curses the weight on her back, keeping her pinned to the floor. “Elena, what are you doing here?”

“Making a fool of myself, apparently,” she moans, sighing in relief as Vincent stands up, relieving the pressure of her back, but keeping his gun trained on her. Brushing the dust off her suit, Elena huffs impatiently. “I saw Cloud and the others earlier, and I figured you’d be here somewhere, but I’ve been watching the town for hours now, and I didn’t see you at all.”

“I was resting in the clinic. I was sick with a fever, but I’m very flattered.”

“Who’s your friend, Miss Shinra?”

Charlie glances anxiously at Vincent. “My bodyguard,” she answers, glad that he doesn’t correct her. “Elena, what are you really doing here?”

“Getting revenge, okay?” Elena’s face hardens into an expression that’s almost comical. “For what _your_ friends did to Tseng!”

It takes Charlie a moment to recognize the ridiculous situation she’s currently found herself in. She’s still thinking about all the videos that Vincent showed her, but she’s glad for the distraction. She heaves a great sigh and crosses her arms, giving her head a shake. 

“Elena, my friends didn’t hurt Tseng. Sephiroth killed him.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what your _stupid_ friends said, too—”

“They told you that Sephiroth killed Tseng and you just . . . didn’t believe them?” When Elena continues to look doubtful, Charlie knows that she’s going to have to talk about it, and though she’s very resentful about it, she also knows that it will feel better to get it off her chest. “I was there. I was there when Sephiroth attacked him. He almost killed _me._ ”

Charlie brushes her hair aside to show off the scar on her neck. Elena examines it closely. “Well . . . I . . . Tseng, he . . .”

It strikes her then just how young Elena is. That fact, perhaps, is what softens Charlie, and she continues to speak as if Vincent is merely part of the shadows. “Elena,” she begins, shifting uncomfortably, “I loved him very much, probably more than you—”

She can see that it isn’t working, judging by the way Elena scrunches her nose.

“Nope, sorry, that was bad. I am not used to . . . having to share . . . ?” Charlie inhales deeply, blushing when she catches Vincent’s eye. He shakes his head slowly, almost looking amused. 

Why does it have to be _her_ responsibility to comfort Elena? Elena had a crush on her boss, an infatuation that was probably closer to hero-worship than anything. But Elena hadn’t spent half of her life with Tseng. She loved nothing but his pretty face and aloof demeanor and reputation as their leader. 

Elena had never lived with him for days, and sometimes weeks, at a time, never knew what he looked like in the mornings or what his routine was before going to bed. 

Elena never knew how competitive he was at board games, or how little he could drink before needing to be walked to the bathroom and bedroom, or how his stifled laughter sounded when she made faces at him across the dinner table while Veld was distracted, or how flustered he would get when Veld would catch them and mutter, “all right, settle down and eat your dinner, kids.”

Elena never knew what it was like to be comforted by him, never knew what it was like to sit on the beach eating dumbapples with him. 

“Um . . .” Feeling humiliated, Charlie struggles for speech one more time. _What would I want someone to say to me?_ “Listen, um . . . you should know that, um . . .”

She looks to Vincent for help that she knows will not come, but she’s encouraged by the small nod that he gives her. Charlie’s fingers jump to the scar on her neck, but she shakes her head and lowers her hand back to her side. 

“I think you should know that . . . when Tseng died . . .” Oh, Gods, why does it hurt so much to say it outloud? Why is it so hard to breathe just _thinking_ of him? _Am I comforting her or myself?_

“Oh, Charlotte . . . don’t cry.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she hisses at Elena. 

Elena blushes fiercely. “Sorry, I, er—” She sighs, seemingly recognizing defeat. “Miss Shinra, he loved you very much.”

“Tseng was the one who told Charlotte to come with us,” Vincent finally says, stepping forward when it’s clear that Charlie isn’t going to say anything more. “We took her from the temple on his own instruction. There is nothing in Midgar for her now. She stays with us.”

“Tseng said that?” Elena asks.

Charlie nods, and that seems to settle it. Still upset and bitter, Elena agrees to leave them to their devices, promising not to mention anything to Reno or Rude. 

“Good luck, Charlie,” Elena tells her before she leaves. 

“Thank you,” Charlie tells her, shaking her hand. “You, too.”

She watches the Turk disappear into the night through the frosted window, suddenly feeling much lighter than before. 

“Can I ask you something?” Charlie whispers, never turning away from the window. A few street lamps are brightening the hard-packed snow pathways, and it’s almost peaceful to watch the snowflakes fall silently. 

“You want to know what Hojo did to me.”

“Yes.”

It’s quiet for a long time. She’s too embarrassed to look Vincent in the face. He doesn’t answer her, but she hears the breath leave him all at once as if he’s been hit, and that’s enough to make Charlie whirl around, only to find herself face-to-face with someone that . . . isn’t Vincent. 

Every part of her freezes up, and it has nothing to do with the weather. 

He just stands there, a monster—no, she shouldn’t say that—but he _looks_ like a monster, a monster with some human features, and some of those features are still recognizable. It seems as if whatever monster Vincent harbors within him, has merged with his human form, leaving behind the narrow face and long nose that are so _him._

His skin, instead of the bloodless color it usually is, has taken on a grayish tinge, and his eyes glow almost golden instead of their typical red. Scratches litter his face, and his clothes are torn and ragged, his hair replaced with crimson protrusions that come from his head. His clothes seem part of his skin, his body looks like it could be half-human and half-skeleton, but there must be muscle beneath because she can see it pressing against the fabric. 

Over his heart, something bright glows from deep within his breast, bright blue and never flickering. This, in itself, is very interesting, but Charlie’s eyes are pulled away from the glowing heart to the wings that have protruded from his back, spread to each side and about ten or eleven feet long to reveal the same red color of his cape, and his wings are just as tattered.

She has no idea what she’s looking at, but it terrifies her. 

That is, until she learns that it can speak. 

“Are you satisfied now?” It sounds like Vincent, but at the same time, it doesn’t. 

“I . . . don’t know. Can you please change back?”

“Does it frighten you?”

Charlie averts her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself, still unsure what to think about this entire night. “I just want . . . _you_ back right now.”

Vincent obliges her, and she can’t look. The sound of bones cracking makes her feel ill again, and the entire process leaves him breathing very heavily. Looking at him causes her pain, the pain of a guilty conscience weighing heavily on her, suffocating her. 

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not your fault. It’s Hojo’s, and it happened long before you could have done anything about it.”

She doesn’t know what to say. She’s horrified, numb, still a bit feverish, and she thinks she could sleep for a long time. “I think I just want to go back,” she says, her voice cracking, “and I think I’d like to walk back. And use the front door this time.”

There’s still a nurse behind the desk when Charlie and Vincent walk through the front door again. She looks up at the sound of the tinkling bell and her eyes grow wide. “Miss Shinra! You should be in bed! How did you . . . when did you . . . ?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Charlie snaps, pushing past her to climb the stairs, Vincent on her heels. 

The fire has died out, leaving the room cold with the window still propped open. Charlie doesn’t mind, removing the outer clothing she had put on to protect herself from the snow. The moment her legs and arms are bare again, goosebumps spring up on her skin. 

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks Vincent as he closes the window, locking the latch. He looks over at her, which she takes to mean _depends on what you’re about to ask me._ It takes her a moment to decide on who to ask for. “Can you tell Cid I’d like to talk to him?”

Vincent seems genuinely relieved. “Yes.” He pauses, lingering by the window and sighing. With a hand on his hip, he sighs. “Perhaps I’m not the best person to be giving you advice, but I think it would be in your best interests to tell Cid about Veld.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I’m tired of hearing about it from him, and there’s a chance that, in a few days, you may not have the opportunity to tell him again.”

Charlie blushes. She would be angrier with him if he hadn’t just shown her confidential information, as well as the monster that he seemingly carries within him. As he crosses the room, she turns her back on him, thinking of one last thing that she wants to ask of him. 

“Wait,” she calls out, glad she’s caught him before he’s made it completely through the door. “I have one more thing to ask you.”

“One last thing, and then I think you’ve traded in all of your favors with me for the rest of your life.”

Though he’s completely serious, Charlie can’t help but smile weakly, looking into his face. It’s not the same, and it will never be the same, but she thinks she needs it. “Will you call me ‘little princess’? Just the once?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“Okay. That’s fair.”

Cid arrives a few minutes later, looking as if he hasn’t slept a wink since they arrived. He nearly barrels into the room as she’s lying in bed, looking at the glowing fireplace, where a new fire has sprung to life after she had used her newfound knowledge to get it going again. 

He settles down in the chair that Vincent had been occupying earlier, blocking the fire from view. “Hey, honey, you okay?” 

“No,” she replies, “I’m not.”

“Oh. You need me to go get the doc or somethin’? I’m sure he can give you some more medicine if you need it.”

Charlie shakes her head slowly. “No, it’s not that.”

“ _Oh_.” He leans forward, pushing some stray hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “What can I do?”

“I am only ever going to ask this once,” she tells him, and Cid narrows his eyes at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I just . . . want you to hold me.”

Cid doesn’t present himself as eager, nor does he make it seem like her request is an unreasonable one. Instead, he kicks his boots off and leaves them by the fire to dry, shrugs out of his jacket, and climbs into the small bed in his white undershirt and pants.

Charlie already feels the tears dripping onto her pillow from the bridge of her nose as Cid slips his arm underneath her pillow, curling it around her to hold her close. She can smell stale cigarette smoke and sweat on his shirt, but she knows that she probably doesn’t smell any better. 

“I want to tell you something,” she breathes, tilting her head back to look up into his face. 

He smiles at her, combing the fingers of his free hand through her hair. “Tell me what?”

“About Veld.”

“Oh, Lottie . . . don’t worry ‘bout that, okay? You don’t have to talk to me ‘bout that right now.”

_In a few days, you may not have the opportunity to tell him again._

Charlie exhales shakily, smiling back at him, reaching up with her hand to touch the light stubble on his face, letting her fingertips skate over his cheek, his skin so warm against her own. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispers, her heart beating so fast that she’s sure it’ll jump right out of her chest. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cause the world might end soon?”

He isn’t angry about it. There’s still a small, toothy little grin on his face. He’s only teasing, and it makes her feel better. 

Charlie tries to gather all the courage she has within her. She tries to summon the courage she felt when she went through Reeve’s office for the floor plans to the mako reactors. She tries to be as brave as she had been when she looked Sephiroth in the face, his blade to her neck. 

But this is a different kind of courage, a different kind of strength, one that Charlie doesn’t quite think she possesses. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because Cid initiates it first, brushing the tip of his nose against her own as a warning, but she doesn’t pull away. 

She meets him halfway, her lips ghosting against his own chapped ones. Warmth immediately floods her body, and the rough hand that had been touching her face now wraps around her waist protectively as he pulls her closer, kissing her properly. 

The very idea that he feels the need to be so gentle with her is overwhelming, and it makes her feel far more guilty than anything else she’s seen tonight, which only makes her feel guiltier and guiltier . . . 

“I have to—tell you—something,” she breathes against his mouth in between kisses, running her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, her heart leaping in her throat.

“Okay,” he murmurs against the corner of her mouth, kissing her one last time before pulling away. 

“I lied to you,” she says, unable to believe that she’s going to tell him this, her biggest secret, something she has buried for years—or tried to, at least. “You weren’t my first kiss, not really.”

“Oh yeah?” Cid never releases her. “Was it that military man of yours?”

Gods, if she doesn’t say it now, she’ll never say it at all, and why is she even saying it in the first place—“It was Rufus.”

Cid blinks at her. “Your brother?”

Charlie is so embarrassed she could die. She wants to throw up. Her entire body heats up, flaming red, and she tries to squirm out of Cid’s hold, prepared to run all the way back to Midgar to lock herself away out of shame, but he refuses to let her go. 

“Get off me—” she whines, suddenly crying very real tears, so ashamed that she wants to fling herself from the top of the tallest snow-capped mountain she can find. “Please, let me go—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, honey, it’s okay—” Cid’s hand jumps to her face, taking firm hold of her chin to force her to look at him, but it’s not malicious in the way Rufus might do it. He doesn’t look like he hates her, nor does he seem disgusted by her. She stops struggling for a moment. “Lottie, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

She doesn’t quite think Cid understands the severity of what she’s trying to say, but he could have pushed her away from the moment she confessed to kissing her own brother, and he didn’t. 

“I still like you,” he admits softly, pressing a kiss to her hairline, causing Charlie’s heart to swell with affection. “And I still wanna kiss you.”

“I want to kiss you, too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats, her cheeks still burning. 

“Okay,” Cid teases, leaning forward to kiss her again. 

Charlie opens her mouth for him, and for a moment, nothing has changed, and they’re still in the grassy field outside of Rocket Town, and tomorrow, the Shinra No. 26 is going to launch him into space. 

She can’t even say how much time they spend kissing each other, some of the most tender kisses she’s ever received in her life from a man that’s typically rough and brash and hardheaded. 

It is affection she’s craved for weeks, ever since leaving Reeve. It must be a dream, and she’s afraid to open her eyes, to wake up to an empty bed without his lips moving against hers. 

Part of her hates how her body reacts to him, and part of her hates how his body reacts to _her._ It makes everything so difficult and so confusing, and she knows that this is the worst possible time to be figuring out feelings for someone she hasn’t been romantically involved with for years (if she could even consider it that). 

Cid is the one to pull away, flushed and panting and smiling awkwardly. “Lottie, we—I can’t,” he admits, clearing his throat and reaching below the blankets to adjust the front of his pants. “We gotta stop.”

Charlie blushes, too. Maybe she never stopped. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey. I just . . . I don’t wanna . . . fuck, you make me so nervous—”

“What?” she chuckles. “Why?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Lottie, you know exactly why.”

Her heart flutters. “Do you want me to . . . help?”

“Help?”

She hums, slipping a hand between them to palm the front of his pants, soliciting a breathy moan from his throat. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to, if it will make you happy. Will that make you happy?”

The expression on his face changes at once, from something akin to pure delight to one of doubt. He wraps his fingers around her wrist to pull her hand away from him, bringing it to his lips to kiss her pulse. There’s something uncomfortable about the way he shifts and smiles, like he’s eager to leave. 

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, her heart sinking now, after just leaping for joy. 

“No! No, no, no, no, that’s not—no, you’re perfect—I mean, you were doing everything right—goddamn it, Lottie, I—” Cid grits his teeth, twitching and squirming and probably craving a cigarette to get him through. Instead of rolling over and reaching for the pack on the end table, he inhales loudly. “I don’t want you to think you—you _owe_ me that, or something. I’m—I don’t want you to do that because you think it’ll make me happy.”

Charlie doesn’t know what to say. She still feels like she did something wrong, but she isn’t sure what. 

“Why shouldn’t I do that if I think it will make you happy?”

Cid lets go of her hand, and she doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her, like she’s an idiot, like she has three heads—

“Well, I want _you_ to be happy. I want you to . . . want it, too.”

Charlie feels like she’s been punched in the stomach. She can’t even speak. Is this the same Cid she knew all those years ago? The same Cid she had just seen in Rocket Town? She kisses him again, and he’s content to let her curl up against his chest and fall asleep. 

When Charlie wakes in the morning, it’s time to continue north after Sephiroth, and Cid gives her one last kiss before they join their friends, knowing just as well as she does that they might not get another chance. 


	55. Chapter 55

He knows he should tell her. It’s the right thing to do. 

He should tell everyone else, as well, that Rufus Shinra is currently boarding the _Highwind_ in the hopes of reclaiming his sister and the terrorists that initially threw Midgar into chaos. 

They all deserve to know, and they deserve to have a fighting chance, but Reeve knows that, if Sephiroth _is_ waiting for them on the other side of the mountain, it’s unlikely that any of them will walk away with their lives. 

But part of him is still reluctant to involve Charlie in this. Rufus’s threat had sounded plain and clear to him, and with the president slowly becoming more and more fragmented with each personal loss, Reeve wouldn’t put it past Rufus to follow through with that threat. He’s hurt Charlie before, and there’s no doubt that he would do it again, if not worse this time around. 

In the end, he resolves to tell Charlie before he tells anyone else. It might be that he could convince her to wait around for Rufus, and if she complies with her brother’s wishes and if she returns to Midgar willingly, she might be spared a horrible punishment. 

She would be her brother’s prisoner, to be sure, but at least she would be alive and relatively safe, so long as she follows orders. That makes him nervous, as Charlie has never been particularly good at taking orders from anyone. 

The only problem with his plan, however, is the fact that it’s nearly impossible to find a moment alone with her. 

After leaving Modeoheim, Charlie had clung to the pilot for the majority of their journey, clearly very ill and in no fit state to continue. She had slept throughout the entire day in Icicle Inn, and none of the clinic staff would allow additional visitors into her room, and once again, Charlie was left alone with another (former) Turk that she had somehow managed to charm and wrap around her finger. 

To his surprise, he had received a phone call from Elena that night, as the time was nearing two o’clock in the morning. With Tseng presumed dead, the last few Turks remain scattered, with Reno and Rude still collecting information abroad on Sephiroth’s world-ending plans. Elena happened to be just touching down in Nibelheim for the night after a helicopter flight from Icicle Inn, she claimed in her phone call, her voice panicked and frantic. 

“ _Director Tuesti, I don’t know if I did the right thing, and I’m afraid that Reno will . . ._ ”

He didn’t understand how any of this was his responsibility, and he had little comfort to offer Elena, but he could understand why someone with doubts might express those doubts to him instead of someone who would report directly to the president, someone like her real boss, like Heidegger. 

She had explained to him that she had found Charlie and Vincent in an abandoned home at the edge of the village, and how she had decided to walk away without calling in Charlie’s location or at least attempting to bring her back to Midgar. 

Assuring her that she had, indeed, done the right thing, Reeve was left to wonder what Charlie might have been doing in some old home so late at night, and how she had managed to sneak out of the clinic without anyone raising a fuss. 

Upon leaving Icicle Inn (prematurely, he thought, for while the doctor had given Charlie a week’s worth of medication for her journey, he also chided her for overexerting herself while her body was still recovering), Reeve hopes to pull her aside and explain the Rufus situation, but again, it’s nearly impossible to get her alone, but that doesn’t mean she’s impossible to talk to.

In fact, as they begin their descent towards the cliffs that lead to the wild and uncharted northern territory, Charlie asks Cait Sith to linger behind the group with herself and Vincent, and he learns quickly enough exactly what the two of them were up to when Elena interrupted them only last night. 

She still coughs hoarsely into her elbow every so often, and Reeve can see her shivering through his computer screen, despite wearing several warm layers of clothing, but she doesn’t complain once, and he has to admire her tenacity. 

Rufus would never survive an adventure such as this, and Reeve wonders if Charlie knows it. 

Regardless, after putting a healthy amount of distance between the three of them and their fellow companions, Charlie tells him about the videos Vincent had found relating to the Cetra, Jenova, Professor Gast, Aerith’s birth mother, and something called “Weapon” that Reeve can’t recall ever hearing about before. Combined with the information Vincent has slowly given them over the last few weeks in regards to Sephiroth’s own true mother, and with what Charlie had learned from Tseng’s reports about the cruel experiments that had taken place in order to create the great war hero and his two SOLDIER friends, Reeve thinks they might be able to finally make some sense of the entire situation. 

In return, Reeve does inform them about Professor Hojo’s abrupt return to Shinra Incorporated, which surprises Vincent, but doesn’t at all surprise Charlie.

“Hojo is nothing without Shinra,” she says casually, brushing off Reeve’s protest when he continues to tell her about Rufus’s nonchalance about the situation. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Allowing Hojo to run around unchecked . . . who knows what he might do?”

Reeve can’t say he completely disagrees with that logic, but having Hojo around _at all_ makes him, rightfully, a little wary. He doesn’t argue with her any further about it, and conversation continues without pause. 

Whenever they think they’re beginning to get somewhere, there are more unanswered questions and missing information, but while Charlie and Vincent are able to map an entire timeline of events within their own heads and begin piecing seemingly irrelevant pieces of the puzzle together, Reeve struggles to keep up. 

He supposes Charlie has spent so much time with Turks over her lifetime that it’s almost second nature to understand their investigative way of thinking. 

She seems to have been mulling all of this over for some time, because she understands a lot more than she sometimes pretends to. Out of everything, out of all of their theories, she is convinced of one certain fact that is based upon scattered bits of evidence that she’s collected over the course of their journey. 

She’s wholeheartedly convinced that it’s not Sephiroth they’ve been following, but Jenova, and she immediately launches into a full explanation, beginning with the night her father died to cite the way Sephiroth had appeared to phase through solid flooring and the mysterious (and coincidental) disappearance of the Jenova specimen that same night.

Charlie certainly makes a compelling argument. She recalls that Jenova is clearly capable of some form of shape shifting, as Aerith’s mother had explained in one of the videos she watched last night, but isn’t able to answer Reeve’s follow-up question as to _why_ Jenova might choose to take on the form of a long-dead Shinra war hero.

She reminds them of the wriggling appendage that had been on the altar where Aerith died, left behind when Sephiroth disappeared, and while Vincent knows what Charlie is talking about, Reeve doesn’t remember seeing anything of the sort, but does remember Cloud mentioning finding something similar aboard the cargo ship they rode from Junon to Costa del Sol, where they had also encountered Sephiroth. 

Charlie tells them about a peculiar reaction she had elicited from Tseng before they had entered the Temple of the Ancients, after first mentioning it might not be Sephiroth they were chasing, after all.

She also tells them something that sends a chill down Reeve’s spine, even in the comfort of his own office at the Shinra Building. What she describes sounds impossible, and she’s very calm about describing her experience with Sephiroth’s sword held to her neck, far calmer than he might have been, if it were him. 

“I think he read my mind,” Charlie confesses, though Vincent looks slightly skeptical. “It’s like he knew exactly what I was thinking when he was looking at me. Or . . . he wanted to feel my reaction for himself and sort of . . . drew it out of me. He knew I wanted and expected to die. I can’t describe it, but I think that’s why he let me live. He knew I didn’t think I would leave that room.”

Reeve can’t say he understands. He doesn’t doubt that Charlie was very traumatized in the seconds and minutes that followed Tseng being mortally wounded, and it’s only natural for her imagination to have expanded on that moment she had shared with Sephiroth before, what she thought would be, her death. 

He doesn’t tell her that, however. 

She seems more like herself than he’s seen her for a while, talking without hardly taking a breath, passionate and frenzied and so damn smart. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever good mood she’s in, even though Reeve can’t think of any reason as to why her mood would spike so drastically, so he says nothing. 

They still lack answers about the tattooed, black-cloaked men they’ve come across recently, how Sephiroth might have survived the freak accident that was reported to have killed him, and the cryptic hypothesis Professor Hojo mentioned to Charlie in Costa del Sol, but they understand a little more than they did yesterday, and it takes up much of their time. 

In regards to Weapon, Reeve just hopes it remains dormant for the time being. He doesn’t think he can handle any more surprises. 

* * *

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize y’all scheduled a fuckin’ Shinra board meeting for today. Hope we ain’t interruptin’ anything too important.”

Charlie scowls at Barret from her place in between Cait Sith and Vincent. 

Cid scoffs quietly to himself and turns away from her, facing forward again, holding his hands out over the flame at the end of Nanaki’s tail. He doesn’t feel shit through the thick padding of his gloves, and when Nanaki catches sight of his tail being used, he lopes ahead to walk with Cloud, Barret, and Tifa, leaving poor ol’ Cid alone with Yuffie. 

“That’s like, the millionth time you’ve looked back at her now,” Yuffie snorts, looking ridiculous underneath her layers of winter clothing. “Bet she’d let you lick the snow off her boots if you asked.”

“The fuck are you tryin’ to say?” Cid snaps at the kid.

Yuffie raises her eyebrows and sticks her tongue out at him before pursing her lips together and making obnoxious kissing sounds, treating him like a fucking dog. 

“Get the hell out of here.”

She obliges him, racing ahead to annoy her other friends and leaving Cid alone to his thoughts.

He can’t stop thinking about last night. 

He can’t stop thinking about the way Charlie had kissed him, so soft and so sweet and so shy, turning back into the young girl he once hoped would love him without reservation, the young girl who had worked alongside him on the construction of his airship and his rocket. 

He can’t stop thinking about the way Charlie had offered to relieve him of the painful erection that just _kissing_ her had given him, the warmth of her hand seeping through the thin fabric of his pants, rubbing just the right way to get him to sigh involuntarily, wanting only to make him happy with no regard as to how _she_ felt.

It had been equally as painful to deny himself the very thing he’s wanted since first meeting her all those years ago, but he knew that sleeping with the vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company was a mistake just waiting to happen. 

That thought is further affirmed every time that he looks back at Charlie, always deep in conversation with Cait Sith and Vincent, all three of them conspiring together. 

Barret likes to joke around sometimes, calling Vincent “a man of few words”. 

Seeing him with Charlie, Cid doesn’t quite think that’s the case. Vincent always seems to have plenty to say around Charlie, but he’s also noticed that she puts forth a little more effort than anyone else when it comes to cracking the former Turk. 

But Vincent is the furthest fucking thing from his mind right now. Cid is still stuck on the confession Charlie had made last night in regards to kissing her own brother, and his imagination gives way to horrible thoughts that he’ll never have the courage to ask her about. 

He’s heard the rumors from Barret, of course, who had lived in the slums of Midgar for some time and never shied away from joining into the discourse regarding Shinra. 

‘Brotherfucker’, some called her, while others preferred something simple like, ‘whore’ or ‘slut’ or ‘abomination’. Truthfully, Cid hadn’t taken much stock in such filthy fucking gossip, because Charlie would surely understand the implications and consequences of doing something so goddamn heinous with her pain-in-the-ass brother. 

He doesn’t want to believe it was anything more than a lonely kiss shared by two kids. That’s normal, isn’t it? Kids looking to experiment with someone they trust, like family? 

But the way she had _looked_ afterwards . . . no one should be so fucking scared and ashamed of an innocent _kiss_ . . . unless it hadn’t been innocent at all, unless it hadn’t just been a kiss. 

By late afternoon, and thanks to Lottie’s exceptional map-reading skills, they come upon a lone cabin at the base of the cliffs, where an old hiker talks for nearly thirty-five minutes about his life as a former climber, regaling them all with details about his old partners and the twenty years that he’s lived in nearly complete isolation. 

It all sounds very sad, but Charlie had squeezed herself beside him on the sofa in order to listen, so Cid doesn’t really mind that the old man goes on and on. When he lifts his arm to drape it around the back of the couch, barely touching the very tops of her shoulders, she doesn’t push him away, but his fingers end up brushing against Tifa sometimes, which makes things slightly awkward with the amount of shifting and apologizing he’s forced to do, especially when Tifa catches on to his plan of trying to put the fucking moves on Charlie. 

It sounds like what they’re all looking for is on the other side of the cliffs, a giant crater where something had once fallen many, many years ago and changed the landscape of the entire area. Holzoff impresses very seriously upon them the harsh landscape and climate, and warns them of several precautions they will need to take before he settles his gaze on Charlie, who has remained silent the entire while. 

“You don’t look very well,” Holzoff tells her, looking her up and down and frowning. “Going against the cliffs unprepared, or ill, will surely be a death sentence.”

“I’ll be fine,” Charlie assures him, immediately coughing into her arm like she’s going to cough up a lung. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring her along. They’re only going to make it worse, dragging her through a subzero wasteland. 

Cloud sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, sprawled out in an armchair by the fireplace. “Okay, we’ll go in groups. Tifa, Barret, and I will secure the route. Once we’re ready for the rest of you, we’ll send up a flare.” He turns his gaze on the old man. “Is it all right if the rest of our party waits here?”

“Certainly,” Holzoff replies with a nod, leaving them to their own devices after ensuring they have all the required equipment to scale the cliffs. 

Yuffie groans in disgust, crossing her arms and pouting from the floor, her hair soaking wet from the snow. “How is _that_ fair?”

“I think it’s pretty fair,” Barret replies, satisfied with the way Cloud has split them up. 

“Well, _you’re_ not the one who has to be stuck with a _Shinra._ ”

“Hey,” Cid snaps, earning himself a scowl from Yuffie. “Take it easy, okay? Lottie’s just as much part of the team as anyone else here, and she just dragged her fuckin’ ass through all those goddamn snowfields to be here with us, having walked out of a clinic just this mornin’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that you were the new spokesperson for the vice president.” Yuffie gets to her feet, strutting back and forth across the cramped room, leaning down in front of Cid and scrunching her nose at him. “What’d she promise you, Cid? A shiny new airplane? Materia? A _kiss?_ ”

Cid flushes, growing angry now. He retracts his arm from around Charlie’s shoulders, prepared to throttle the damn teenager in front of him, but Charlie’s hand comes to rest on his forearm and prevents him from saying something he doesn’t mean. 

“Yuffie, I have more reason than you to be here,” Charlie tells her flatly, and the lack of frustration and anger in her voice tells Cid just how exhausted she really is. “It shouldn’t matter my own personal reasons for being here at all, so long as our own end-goals are the same.”

“Don’t try to put me in the same category at _you_ —”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

“ _Gods,_ you think you’re _so_ much better than everyone, don’t you? With your fancy clothes and your fancy hair and your fancy way of talkin’. It makes me _sick!_ ”

“My fancy way of talking?” Charlie repeats, growing angry now. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got that city accent. That _money_ accent. And you know that showin’ off your tits and sleepin’ around with everyone here isn’t gonna get you anywhere, right?”

There’s a collective “whoa, whoa, whoa” as everyone starts to insert themselves into the conversation that’s suddenly taken a turn for the worse. Even Barret leans forward from his chair, holding a hand out to stop Yuffie before she says something _really_ stupid.

Cid jumps to his feet. “Careful, Yuffie,” he growls, but once again, Charlie stops him, blushing heatedly, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him back down onto the couch. 

“Excuse me?” she scoffs.

“Don’t be stupid, Charlie, I think we all know about those dirty magazines you’re always in. We know what you’re like, and we’ve all seen you goin’ off into the woods with Vince every chance you get, and if you want to pretend that you didn’t sleep with Cid last night when he snuck up to your room—”

“Okay, I think we’re done here,” Cait Sith snaps, sitting comfortably atop his moogle and leaning against the wall. “Yuffie, you’re being—”

“Cid and I didn’t sleep together—”

“It’s true,” he supplies, starting to think it’s a bad look to be pressed up against her right now, not helping her case in the slightest. It’s really only half the truth. They had slept in the same bed, but he’s not just going to announce to all these random people that he and Charlie were kissing like horny teenagers in her hospital bed last night. 

“And Vincent was only teaching me how to shoot a gun—”

“Then you must _really_ suck, because you should have learned by now,” Yuffie counters, looking to have absolutely no intentions of slowing down. “I can’t believe you all are okay with this! Once we save the world or whatever, she’s just gonna use that to turn a profit like her daddy did before her.”

“I am _nothing_ like my father, you little brat,” Charlie spits, causing everyone to fall into an uncomfortable silence, even Yuffie, whose expression flickers briefly. “For you to even suggest something so cruel and unfounded reflects very greatly on you, Yuffie.”

“Oh, shit . . .” Barret mutters, looking ready for something big to happen, trying to shrink into his small armchair as if hoping to remove himself from the situation completely. 

Even Cid starts to feel mildly uncomfortable, looking everywhere except at Charlie and Yuffie. 

“I am _so_ tired of you all pretending that you know anything about me,” she continues, not quite shouting, but Cid knows that she’s mad. “I’m tired of everyone walking all over me, of telling me who I am instead of bothering to ask. And Yuffie, _you_ , of all people, should know what it’s like to be reduced to nothing but someone’s daughter.” Charlie looks around at everyone, blushing. 

Yuffie lowers her eyes, looking ashamed, as she should. Charlie rises from the couch, chewing on her lower lip for a moment as everyone listens. 

“I am . . . smart, and . . . I’m a genius, and I know people throw that word around, but I’m really a genius, and I finished school early and I . . . Cid and I built a rocket.” She looks desperately at him, looking close to tears. “We built a rocket and I was twenty-two. And I was head of the space department and I was really good at my job. I was _really_ good. And when I was nineteen, I helped build an airship. But none of you even care about that. No one has _ever_ cared about that. They only ever cared about what I said when I was half-naked.”

Everyone averts their eyes quickly, distracting themselves with the wall or their fingernails or their weapons. Cid thinks he may be watching Charlie have a mental breakdown. 

“When the Turks took me from Gongaga, did you even think about coming back for me?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, completely dejected when no one answers. “I would have gone back for any of you, but you just left me there. I was in a cell for over a week, and you guys didn’t even think of me. I would have gone back for any of you without hesitation.”

This is getting too much for him. If it were anyone but Lottie, he’d walk out. Even Cait Sith has his head down to avoid looking her in the face. 

“And when Tseng died, you didn’t even care. None of you, except for Cid, even asked if I was all right. It’s like you think I don’t even have feelings.” Sighing deeply, she continues. “I’m human, you know. I hurt, too. I hurt just like the rest of you.”

“Charlie . . .” Tifa begins awkwardly, trailing off when it’s clear she has nothing to say. 

“I feel like I’ve done a lot to prove to you that I’m different, but . . . if you want to send me back to Midgar, then fine, but I will turn around tomorrow with the entirety of Shinra Incorporated behind my back in the hopes of defeating Sephiroth and putting an end to his plans.”

Cid smiles weakly at her back. He loves her, and he’s always loved her, but he thinks he loves her more now. 

He thinks she might be done now, and she looks slightly horrified with what she’s just said, but she has one more thing to say, it seems. “Also, I worked _really_ hard to have a hot body, and I’d like to see all of you build up the confidence to pose naked for the entire world to see.”

Sliding her coat on over her shoulders and pulling a knit hat down over her eyes, Charlie leaves them all, walking back out into the windy snowfield and slamming the front door shut behind her so hard that it rattles on its hinges.

It’s quiet between them all for a moment, the tension so thick that it’s suffocating. Everyone’s eyes are lowered, but Cait Sith breaks the silence with a loud sigh. “Kinda wish she’d just yelled at us,” he says plainly. “That was _so_ much worse than being yelled at.”

“She’s yelled at you before?” Cloud asks. 

“Well . . .” the cat stammers for a moment, waving a flippant hand, “y’know . . .”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk so much,” Nanaki says with a huff through his dry nose. 

Barret gives Yuffie an exasperated look, one that he might give his own daughter. “Yuffie, why’d you have to piss off the vice president of Shinra?”

“ _What!_ ” Yuffie shrieks, whirling to face Barret with her hands curled into fists at her sides. “ _You_ do it all the time!”

“That’s different,” Barret retorts, shrugging his broad shoulders. “She knows I’m only bein’ half-serious.”

“I can’t believe you! I thought you _hated_ Shinra—”

“I _do_ hate Shinra, goddamnit!” Barret slams a fist down on the arm of his chair, nearly breaking it. “But she didn’t have to come back, and she could’a told her brother all about us, but she didn’t. She’s got more fuckin’ integrity than Mr. Shinra Spy, at least.”

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Cait Sith replies, standing up atop the stuffed animal he rides and frowning. “I thought we were past that!”

“Barret, you were terrible to her,” Nanaki reminds him, sounding incredulous. “You hardly gave her enough money sometimes for a hot meal.”

“But did she starve?” Barret asks, holding his arms out like that proves his point—whatever fucking point he’s trying to make. 

Tifa shakes her head. “I told you we should have gone back for her when we left Gongaga.”

Barret scoffs. “She wasn’t a priority at the time.”

One large argument breaks out amongst them all after that, save for himself and Vincent, all snapping at each other for petty things that don’t matter, for things their imaginations have cooked up in regards to others. Everyone is tired and hungry and stressed, and Cid feels that way, too, but he’s really got nothing to argue about and would rather not get involved. 

No one really notices when he slips out the front door. 

Charlie is sitting on the bottom step leading to the front door, hunched over to protect her face from the wind as a particularly strong gust of it picks up the fresh snow and blows it in their direction. Once it dies back down, she lifts her head again, and Cid sits down beside her. He doesn’t bother lighting a cigarette—the wind will only blow the smoke right into Charlie’s face. 

She doesn’t even acknowledge him, staring down at the ground. 

“Y’know . . .” he begins, clearing his throat. “ _I_ know you’re smart, and . . . I think it’s what I like most about you.”

Charlie doesn’t answer, holding her head in her hands. 

“C’mon, Lottie, you’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

Still, she doesn’t answer. He’s not used to Charlie being so fucking quiet. He used to hate when she would run her goddamn mouth, but now that she isn’t, he kind of misses it. 

“That was so humiliating,” she moans into her palms. “I can never go back in there.”

“You don’t wanna right now anyway. They’re all fightin’ with each other.” Cid lifts a hand to rub her back, wanting to pull her close. He’s not even sure she feels his touch through her coat. “You know, honey . . . I think Yuffie’s just jealous of you.”

“If she wants my life, she’s welcome to it.” Charlie sighs very heavily. When she lifts her head again, it’s to ask him, “Do you still think I’m hot?”

That makes him chuckle, nodding his head. “Yeah, I still think you’re hot.”

She turns to look at him, smiling very softly. It makes his cold, frozen heart melt. “I really like you, Cid.”

His chest tightens painfully and he can’t think of a single thing to say. His entire mind has gone blank, and he feels like a boy with his pants down, but then a horrible realization strikes him that negates the feeling of elation almost immediately. 

“You ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cause you don’t plan on comin’ back from whatever’s on the other side of those cliffs, are you?”

She looks apologetic, and that seems, to him, confirmation of his worst fears. “I have nothing left for me in Midgar,” she answers with a small shrug, looking away from him again. “If I go back now . . .”

“Then don’t go back to Midgar.” Cid swats her arm, raising his eyebrows. “You and me, we can fix up the _Tiny Bronco_ and go anywhere in the world. I’ll hide you from the company. Anywhere you wanna go, baby.”

“I can’t run away forever.” She looks surprised at his proposal. He’s only half-serious. “Is that the life you want to live? A life on the run with the world’s biggest traitor?”

“What’s the alternative? You’re just gonna give up?”

“I would rather die knowing I was doing something _good_.”

“How noble of you.”

“Don’t patronize me, Cid.”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I’m not gonna let you walk to your death. You know I can’t do that.”

Charlie considers him for a long time. It feels like she can see right through him, and he fully expects her to tear him a new one. She’s got enough bottled up anger in her, and he wouldn’t even mind taking the brunt of it if it meant she felt better afterwards. 

But instead, she smiles weakly, slipping her hands around his bicep and resting her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

Cid looks down at her, wondering how it came to this. He’s okay with it, he thinks. He presses a kiss to her forehead, happy for the moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter! @dumb_apple_


	56. Chapter 56

Cid has reservations about the entire thing from the beginning, but he knows that nothing he says will change anyone’s mind. 

To keep Charlie and Yuffie from being at each other’s throats the entire way, Cloud divides them further into three teams, and Cid doesn’t think he’s got such a bad gig. 

Before waiting the agreed upon two hours before departing Holzoff’s cabin with Charlie and Vincent, he had caught Charlie in the bathroom of the cabin, taking as much fever reducer as possible while throwing handfuls of painkillers in her mouth, chewing them up and washing it all down with long drinks of the metallic-tasting water from the tap. 

There was no stopping her, and Cid can’t help but wonder if she had been preparing for her death by trying to numb it all. 

When he had tried to corner her in the bathroom to take the medicine out of her hands, she had tried to slip a hand down his pants in the hopes of distracting him from the situation, trapping him between herself and the bathroom door as she placed a soft kiss to the dip between his collarbones. 

It hadn’t progressed any further than that, not when she looked up at him and he saw her pupils, tiny pinpoint things that gave way to the pale blue of her eyes. Cid forced himself to stop her hand before she could touch him, but thankfully, she hadn’t seemed to take offense.

It had given him the chance, however, to brush the backs of his fingers against her sharp cheekbones, her skin damp with sweat and sticky to the touch. He had been humiliated by the way his hand had trembled, but she hadn’t objected to his touch. The thought of her walking willingly to her death had been overwhelming, and it’s _still_ overwhelming. 

He wanted to tell her that he loves her, that he’s never really hated her, that he would die for her just like a good Shinra military man should, that he thinks she’s the most beautiful fucking woman on the entire planet, that he’s never been fucking soft for anyone like he’s soft for her, but he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not she would remember it after the effects of the medicine wore off.

He thinks he made the right decision not to tell her. He’s forced to trail after Vincent on the cliffs, who carries a very high, limp, and half-conscious Charlie on his back like a backpack. Of course, Cid did offer to carry her, but Vincent had only scoffed at him. 

“I’m stronger than you,” he had said.

That had pissed Cid off. “Well, I think we’re both pretty strong.”

“I’m stronger.” And with that, he had loaded Charlie onto his back, her arms hanging limply over his shoulders, his golden fucking gauntlet holding her wrists to his chest, her face buried in his hair as she mumbled incoherently to him. 

The longer they climb and hike, Charlie seems to get better, sweating heavily underneath all of her outerwear (despite the below freezing temperature) and whimpering every so often. She pukes a few times (once on Vincent’s sabatons), but it seems to make her feel better. 

And once, when Cid asks her about the first place she wants to go when they fix up the _Tiny Bronco_ , she bursts into uncontrollable laughter, her entire body shaking with it until there are tears in her eyes, leaking down her cheeks. 

She never gives an answer. 

* * *

“This is where Jenova must have landed two-thousand-years ago.”

“The planet’s energy is gathered here, trying to heal the wound,” Vincent answers, looking around the massive crater they’ve found themselves in, carrying her on his back like a child, surprisingly casual about the entire thing. 

She feels slightly better, albeit numb to the cold now, but she regrets taking all the painkillers. She can still feel the grit in her back teeth from chewing them, and her head is swimming. If Vincent hadn’t carried her, she would never have made it. She hardly remembers the trip at all, only remembering the way the tips of his gauntlet had dug into and rubbed against her skin, her wrists raw and chafed. 

Vincent sets her back down, but her knees are weak, and the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath her feet. 

“What’s taking the planet so long to recover?” Charlie thinks aloud, tapping her chin. At least she’s able to form a coherent sentence now, but her mind is sluggish and it’s difficult to string two ideas together to come to a sensible conclusion. “Don’t you think it’s had plenty of time to heal itself?”

“Uh . . . Lottie . . . I think we got bigger problems right now.”

She looks quickly at Cid. “What do you mean? Bigger than Sephiroth?”

Cid points to the sky, and both Charlie and Vincent look up to see something breaching the thick clouds above the crater. 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” she whispers at the sight of her _Highwind_ , and she and Cid share a slightly panicked look. Her heart begins to race, but it has nothing to do with the medication and everything to do with the fact that Rufus is probably in that airship at this very moment. “We have to go.”

“Who the hell is flyin’ that thing?” Cid asks, shielding his eyes from the sun that doesn’t seem like it’s going to set at all this far north. 

“It doesn’t matter. We have to find everyone. _Now_ ,” she urges, feeling much more sober than she had before seeing the _Highwind._ Taking hold of Cid’s hand and lacing their fingers together tight, she urges him forward, raising her eyebrows at Vincent and insisting that he follow quickly. 

“Hey, you _assholes!_ ” Cid shouts up at the sky, allowing Charlie to pull him still further into the crater, his voice echoing throughout the crater. He can hardly focus, only able to feel the warmth of her hand in his. “ _That’s my ship!_ ”

Charlie scoffs, running crookedly down the earthen path. Without stopping, she glances at him over her shoulder, scowling. “It is _not!_ ”

“It’s got _my_ name on it!”

“It has my name on it, too, you know!”

“It’s literally named after me!”

“Only because your last name _sounds_ like an airship. Shinra’s _Shinra_ just sounds redundant.” Shaking her head, Charlie blinks a few times, trying to focus up. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. Let’s go!”

“Fine! But this conversation ain’t over!”

* * *

“I don’t believe it . . . it’s incredible . . . ! Mr. President, you’ve done it! You’ve found the Promised Land.”

“Congratulations, Mr. President,” Heidegger says, adding his voice to Scarlet’s as they look out through the glass windows of the _Highwind_ , down upon the crater where the Promised Land awaits. “Your father was looking for this for a long time, and now you’ll be the one that discovers it.

Rufus frowns, ignoring the obnoxious and grating laughter coming from his subordinates. Grinding his teeth, he tries to push the nagging reminder from the back of his brain that he _isn’t_ going to be the one who discovers the Promised Land, despite whatever message he decides to have the company project. 

Regardless of Scarlet and Heidegger muttering into both of his ears, Rufus cannot forget that another Shinra has already set foot into the Promised Land. Char and all of her traitorous friends certainly have made it here already, certainly have discovered the place that his father had been searching for nearly all of his life. Char, who had been rejected at nearly every turn within the company under their father’s control, had succeeded where both Rufus and their father had not. 

It makes his blood boil. Once, what seems like a very long time ago, Rufus would have been happy to make this discovery with his sister at his side. It’s a half-forgotten fantasy now, and it shames him to think that he once assumed everything would fall perfectly into place without much effort. 

Char would have been beautiful at his side, in love with _him_ and not engaged to _Reeve_ , living in the most expensive apartment in Midgar with him so he could spend every second with her, his perfect little vice president. With them looking so much alike, it might even have been possible to have children under the guise of an absent and unknown father, a son that would be _his_ , a son to follow in his footsteps as the future president of the Shinra Electric Power Company.

Maybe it was always foolish to think she could ever love him. After all, it’s those kinds of ideas that earned him such severe beatings as a child. That’s one thing Rufus would never do to his own son. 

He will never be like his father. 

Speaking of his father . . . 

Without their father around to determine what’s appropriate or not between his children (and how would he have known their reasoning anyway, never having taken an interest in his children?), there is no one to tell Rufus what is right and wrong. No one on the entire planet has the authority to overrule him, and if they’re unhappy with the woman he’s decided to keep at his side, then he’ll take care of it.

Rufus looks around him. He needs to get away for a moment, feeling his blood pressure spike, pulse pounding in his ears. He needs to get away from the whore on his right and the bootlicker on his left, unable to listen to another second of their chattering and laughter. He needs to get away from the mad scientist that watches the scene play out from the back of the bridge, accompanied by Rude. 

He excuses himself from their company in order to inspect the deck, to see if it offers a better look at the “Promised Land.” Something about this isn’t right, and he can’t believe that no one else seems to notice it. This place is nothing more than a crater, surrounded by frozen tundra and a significant amount of mutated monsters. 

The _Highwind_ is truly a work of art. As Rufus wanders through the interior, up stairs and through doors, he’s amazed that a nineteen-year-old girl could have overseen the construction of this. 

As he goes to pass the Operation Room, the door is slightly cracked, and he can hear two voices coming from within. He stops abruptly at the sound of his sister’s name and listens for a moment, peering through the crack. 

There’s a large, blank screen at the very back of the room, high enough for people seated around the conference table to see clearly during briefings. The color of the carpeted floor is a brilliant red color that reminds Rufus of his father and the carpets that adorn the executive hallways of the Shinra Building. 

There are two men inside, both of them dressed in military uniforms, both of them infantrymen. Their helmets are off, revealing sweaty and messy hair, young faces that are pink and smooth. 

“. . . think the president’s gonna do with Charlotte?”

“Fuck her probably . . . isn’t that what they usually do?”

Rufus’s nostrils flare. Is this how his men talk about Shinras while there’s no one listening? 

“. . . disgusting . . .”

“. . . not arguing against _that_ . . .”

“. . . give her to us lowly soldiers . . .”

There’s a low, hoarse chuckle.

“. . . give her a good fucking . . . tight-ass . . .”

“. . . heard she’s a bitch . . .”

“. . . doesn’t meant I wouldn’t fuck her . . .”

He’s heard enough. 

He’s seeing red by the time he slips into the Operation Room, locking the door behind him, and by the time he’s kneeling on one of the infantryman’s chest, he’s hardly in control, forced to watch from an outsider’s position as he beats the soldier’s face in with the butt of his pistol, until he’s unrecognizable and broken and leaking blood onto the already-crimson carpet, while the soldier’s buddy is whining on the ground with a bullet wound in his stomach.

It’s only when the whining stops, leaving Rufus in complete silence, does he realize what he’s done. 

Breathing very heavily, he stands up off the dead man’s chest and takes a few steps backwards, dropping the bloody gun from his shaking hands onto the floor and wiping blood off his face with a sleeve of his white suit. He holds one of his hands up in front of his face, curling his fingers into a fist. 

The man who had been shot in the stomach has ceased moving. Both of them still have blood pulsing freely from their wounds. 

He adjusts his tie and collar, fixes his cuffs, brushes off the front of his spattered red-and-white suit, breathing shakily through his nose with his lips pursed tight.

When Rufus leaves the Operation Room, Rude isn’t too hard to track down. If he’s surprised by the sight of Rufus covered in blood, he doesn’t show it. 

“There’s a mess in the Operation Room,” he tells the Turk. “I need you to do some cleanup.”

“Yes, sir,” Rude replies, making for the room right away, like a good company Turk should. 

* * *

“You’re telling me that we haven’t been chasing after Sephiroth this whole time?” Tifa puts her hands on her hips, exhaling loudly at Cloud, bleeding from a few scratches on her arms after a long battle that Cid had _just_ missed, a battle with a monster that yielded them the Black Materia once more.

“I _knew_ it!”

Everyone whirls around to face Charlie, who looks triumphant and a little pale and shaky. There’s a glossed-over look to her pale eyes, but she’s still standing, which is pretty goddamn impressive considering everything.

“You knew what?” Cloud asks, frowning at her.

“I knew the _whole time!_ I knew that it wasn’t Sephiroth we were after! I _knew_ it—”

Barret scoffs, shaking his head. “Bullshit. You didn’t know shit—”

“I did,” she insists, nodding vigorously. “I told them—” She points to Cait Sith and Vincent, her eyes never leaving Barret—“didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you yesterday?”

“She did tell us that,” Cait Sith confirms, and Vincent nods his assent. 

“I knew it ever since the Temple of the Ancients, when I suggested it half-jokingly,” she continues, and Cid sighs, moving over to her and noticing the sheen of sweat on her face and the shadows under her eyes. “And if Tseng were here with us, right now, he would _also_ tell you that I said that.”

Nanaki sits back on his haunches, tilting his head left and right. “Charlie, are you all right?”

“No,” she answers very seriously, throwing everyone off guard. “I actually feel really horrible right now, and I feel like I’ve been on the verge of vomiting the entire day.”

“You _did_ vomit twice on the way here,” Vincent reminds her, and Cid scowls at him, exasperated. “Once on my shoes, and the second time over the side of a very small cliff we were on.”

Charlie looks surprised to hear that. Cid bites down on his lower lip. It was a mistake to bring her here. It was a mistake to let her leave the clinic so early. He should have stayed behind with her to wait for their friends. She was too sick to force her through such harsh and unforgiving terrain, and he’s getting worried that it may result in something fatal. 

“You don’t remember that?” Vincent asks her again, raising an eyebrow. “You told me you thought you needed to vomit, so I told you not to vomit on me, and then five minutes later, you vomited on my shoes.”

She doesn’t even blush. “I am—” Charlie struggles for a moment with speech, composing herself and holding her arms out—“sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Cloud asks again, looking to Cid for an answer. “Did she get . . . bit by something, or . . . ?”

“She’s high as a kite. She took a shit ton of painkillers before we left the cabin, and a bunch of the medicine she got from the clinic,” Cid explains, and he isn’t really sure that Charlie is able to understand what he’s saying, leaning limply against him as he gets nearer to her. “And I dunno who the hell taught her to take a pill, but she chewed ‘em up instead of swallowin’ ‘em, so . . .”

“Geez, Charlie,” Yuffie snorts, rolling her eyes and elbowing Tifa, who doesn’t smile back. “Just inject it right into your bloodstream next time.”

“You just _let_ her do that?” Cait Sith sounds more annoyed than he looks. “What did you do? Just _watch_ her eat the entire bottle?”

“Okay,” Cid snaps back at the cat, “ _you_ try tellin’ the vice president what to do next time.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Cloud sighs, holding up the Black Materia in his hand to examine it. “The real Sephiroth is just beyond here, and we need to take care of him once and for all before Shinra gets involved. Once we beat Sephiroth, it’s over and we can focus on getting away from that ship.”

“Well, if Sephiroth is just beyond here, maybe we shouldn’t bring the Black Materia with us,” Tifa suggests, eyeing it warily in Cloud’s palm. 

“I’ll take it!” Yuffie squeals, already racing forward to hold out her hands expectantly.

“I’d rather the Shinra kid have it, given your track record,” Barret retorts, glancing sideways at Charlie. “At least she ain’t no thief.”

“Got that right. This Shinra ain’t a thief.” Charlie lifts her hand above her head and Barret responds without needing to be prompted, clapping his hand against her own for a solid high-five.

“Charlie, was it you who told me you were embezzling money from the company?” Cait Sith chuckles, touching his gloved fingers to his head. 

“Technically, it was my accountant, and I made sure he was compensated well for it.”

“You were embezzlin’ money from your dad’s own company?” Barret asks, turning bodily to face Charlie with a rather impressed look on his face. “All right, all right. Good job, Shinra. Way to stick it to the man in the fanciest way possible.” They both raise their hands again to give each other another high-five. “I think I kinda like high-Charlie.”

She raises her eyebrows and nods. “Me too.”

It would be fucking hilarious in completely different circumstances. Cid thinks he would like high-Charlie, too, if they weren’t knocking on death’s door and being tracked by Shinra Inc., who’ve taken it upon themselves to steal his goddamn airship. 

“Nanaki, _you_ can keep it safe,” Cloud decides, walking right up to him and kneeling, tucking it safely into the small bag that hangs from Nanaki’s materia-filled collar. “We’ll go ahead. Wait for the signal.”

“What the hell is the signal supposed to be?” Cid asks, looking around. 

“Forget a signal!” Yuffie retorts, looking very seriously at Cloud, Tifa, and Barret. “If you’re not back in a half hour, we’re all comin’ after you!”

“Okay,” Cloud agrees, and with one last look at everyone, he nods, resigned to whatever fate awaits him. “We’ll see you all soon.”

* * *

“Amazing! It’s all materia!”

Rufus laughs softly, unbelieving as he stares around at the inside of the glowing cavern. “An abundance of mako outside and a treasure trove of materia inside,” he muses, flicking his hair out of his eyes before reaching out to touch the wall, the warmth of the natural materia seeping into his very soul. “This truly is the Promised Land.”

Above them, a system of roots, harboring more materia that will need to be removed and brought back with them. 

“There is no such thing as the Promised Land,” comes Hojo’s voice from behind him. The professor wanders around the cavern, looking rather bored with everything except for the tangle of roots that looms above them. “It’s nothing more than a legend, an utterly ridiculous wives’ tale.”

“It’s just how I imagined it,” Rufus sighs, very pleased with himself, suddenly noticing the lack of footprints in the dirt, the lack of evidence that anyone has been here for years. He looks around quickly, but there’s nothing that indicates Char is, or was, here. “We’re looking at the Promised Land right now and you still refuse to believe it more than a fantasy, Professor Hojo. It is that kind of dullness that makes you such a second-rate scientist.”

Hojo looks away, uninterested in continuing the conversation, a slight scowl tugging at his thin lips and wide mouth. Rufus would gladly continue berating him, but the ground beneath his feet begins to shake, and Scarlet almost falls forward, catching herself against the wall. 

“What’s going on?” Rufus calls out.

“It feels like it’s coming from within the wall!” Scarlet replies, both of her palms pressed to a sheet of bluish materia. “Something is moving in there!”

Something does move, but it’s not within the wall at all. It seems to be _part_ of the wall, and Rufus thinks he may still be riding the high that follows brutal murder, but something _blinks_ , an eye that’s almost as tall as Scarlet, who quickly moves backwards from whatever the creature is.

“Weapon,” Hojo muttered, stroking his chin and shaking his head. “I confess, I did not believe it existed.”

“I hope you’re planning on explaining, Hojo,” Rufus snaps, watching the wall for another sign of movement.

Professor Hojo turns to face him, looking smug. “They are monsters created by the very planet itself. A self-defense mechanism, if you will . . . the last line of defense.” He gestures towards the wall, the ground still shaking, the entire world seemingly shaking. “They appear when the planet is in danger, reducing _everything_ to nothingness. At least . . . that’s what Professor Gast stated in his reports.”

 _Everything?_ Rufus thinks. It’s a frightening thought, but he has no time to be afraid now. “I don’t recall ever seeing a report such as you’re describing. Where can I find it?”

Professor Hojo smiles, and it is not at all a reassuring or handsome sight. With a crooked index finger, he taps his right temple. “Oh, you won’t. The contents of that report are all up here, of course.”

Rufus grits his teeth, running a hand through his hair. “You keep a lot of things to yourself,” he notes, folding his arms across his chest. He had managed to change into something not bloodstained before climbing off the _Highwind_. “If you wish to continue serving Shinra Incorporated, perhaps you had best learn to dictate your findings, as well as share important information with your superiors.”

Hojo hums, and Rufus turns away from him, hoping that nothing horrible has happened to Char.

* * *

“I think we should go after ‘em. It’s been long enough, and how do we know that they weren’t captured by Shinra before they even made it to Sephiroth?” Yuffie has both hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently as she paces the section of rock she’s taken over. 

“It hasn’t been a half hour yet,” Cait Sith reminds her. “Give ‘em a little while longer, and then we can go.”

“That’s _stupid_ ,” Yuffie hisses at him. 

“The whole point of some of us staying behind was to make sure the Black Materia doesn’t fall into the wrong hands again,” Vincent adds, and Yuffie colors at his gentle reminder. “If anything, only a few of us should continue on, while the rest of us stay behind with Nanaki.”

“You don’t think Sephiroth’ll be able to control Nanaki like he did Cloud, though, right?” Cid is halfway through his third cigarette, waving it around in the air. “S’long as someone besides the numbskull has the Black Materia, we’ll be fine.”

“Willing to put money on that, Captain?” Charlie asks, sitting down on a ledge and swinging her legs back and forth. She looks up to meet his gaze, still feeling slightly light-headed. Part of her doesn’t think she would mind going ahead right now, just to make sure nothing has happened to their friends. 

“Sure, I’ll put some money on that,” Cid tells her with a nod, sucking down the rest of his cigarette before flicking it over the side and letting it fall down down down. “Now, is someone gonna explain what the hell is goin’ on?”

“Speculating now is entirely pointless. Soon, we’re going to find out the truth,” Vincent says, though everyone still seems anxious and on edge, glancing at watches or looking up at the sky or trying to see if there’s any sign of Cloud, Tifa, or Barret.

“It’s kinda crazy that one little piece of materia could do so much damage,” Cait Sith remarks casually, lounging atop his moogle. 

They all talk for a few more minutes, but Charlie finds that she can’t concentrate on their speech any longer. Her head is pounding, and she’s so exhausted that she could sleep for years. She gets to her feet, holding a hand over her forehead, swaying back and forth.

“I don’t feel so good,” she announces to her friends. 

“It’s probably the drugs, kiddo,” Cid replies, walking towards her to pull her gently away from the ledge. “You’ll feel better once you come down. Or you’ll feel worse. Dunno. Try not to think ‘bout it too much.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Y’know, now that you say something, I don’t think I’m feelin’ so hot either.” Yuffie’s eyes look heavy, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. 

“Me . . . either . . .” Vincent groans, holding his head in his hand and dropping to his knees. 

“Vincent?” Nanaki calls out, nudging his arm with his nose. “Vincent! Yuffie?”

Charlie looks up at Cid for a brief moment, only to see him struggling to stand and keep his eyes open. She suddenly drops to the ground, either unconscious or asleep long before she feels the pain of her head connecting with the ground. 

* * *

_I’m flattered, you know._

“You’re . . . flattered?”

_That you still think about me, all these years later._

“Oh . . . well . . . you were my first love, and you broke my heart.”

_I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean to._

“I know, I know . . . I know everything now.”

_Everything, huh?_

“I am so sorry for everything they did to you . . . for what Hollander did to you . . . for what the company did to you.”

_You’re cute, Charlie. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was ever your fault. When are you going to get that through your stubborn little head?_

“Why didn’t you find me? Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”

_I couldn’t let you see me like that. I was ashamed. I was a monster, and you were . . . you._

“Will I . . . see you again?”

_You want to see me again?_

“I never had a chance to really say good-bye to you.”

_Well, we can say good-bye to each other right now._

“All right . . . good-bye, Angeal. Thank you.”

_Hey, we’ll see each other again, don’t worry. Oh, and Charlie?_

“Yeah?”

_You’re not just going to give up, are you?_

“No . . . I . . . I think I want to keep going.”

 _Good. I’m proud of you._ We’re _proud of you._

“Wait . . . we? Tseng? Mother?”

_Good-bye, Charlie. Now . . . wake up!_

* * *

“. . . wake up!”

Her eyes flutter open. Her back is pressed against the hard and rocky ground, and Cait Sith is looming over her, tapping her face softly. “Oh, Reeve,” she breathes, closing her eyes again and sighing. “I think I just spoke to Angeal.”

“What?” he asks incredulously. “How?”

“I don’t know. It might have just been a fever dream.” Opening her eyes once more, Charlie sits up and looks around. Everyone else is still out cold, and one-by-one, she and Cait Sith begin to wake them all. “Wait a minute—” It’s only now that she realizes the effects the medicine had on her is completely gone—“where’s Nanaki?”

“Oh, shit,” Cid groans, rubbing his head, blinking several times and yawning. “We gotta go after him—somethin’ isn’t right here.”

“How long’ve we been out?” Yuffie asks no one in particular, jumping to her feet with agility only a teenager could possess. 

“Only a few minutes,” Cait Sith replies, as Charlie helps Vincent to his feet. 

“We’re wasting time talking about it,” Vincent tells them all. “Let’s go. It’s been long enough.”

* * *

“Mr. President, I have a horrible feeling about this place.”

For once, Rufus agrees with her. At least he isn’t going crazy. “All right, let’s fall back to the ship. We’re going to need to—”

There’s a flash of bright light that blinds him. Rufus covers his eyes with his arm, groaning as stars pop behind his eyelids. When the light has gone, he looks back up to find they are no longer alone, instead joined by the former SOLDIER and his two Avalanche cronies.

Scarlet sputters for a second, scrunching her nose. “Where did _you_ all come from?” she snaps. Rufus is wondering the same thing.

The SOLDIER lifts his head, speaking in a slow voice. “I . . . don’t know . . .” He turns, looking around for a moment before settling his mako eyes right on Rufus’s. “Things are going to get bad. Leave things to me, and get out of here while you can.”

“Leave things to _you?_ ” Rufus takes a few steps forward, unable to believe his ears. This little gutter rat, telling _him_ what to do? The leader of the band of terrorists who kidnapped his sister? “I don’t know what you mean.”

The SOLDIER slumps his shoulders, shaking his head, sounding almost defeated. “This is where the reunion is happening . . . where everything begins, and ends.”

“Where is Char?” Rufus asks him, more concerned about his sister than anything else going on. “Where are the rest of your friends?”

“Like we’re gonna tell you!” 

Rufus turns around to find the leader of Avalanche looking very indignant. He scoffs, but he supposes he shouldn’t have wasted the breath asking such a ridiculous question, because it isn’t long until they’re joined by the rest of the party, Char included. 

How long has it been since he’s seen her? Judging by her appearance, it might have been months. 

She’s definitely ill, there’s no doubt about it. He knows his own sister well enough to know what she looks like when she’s sick, and part of him suddenly fears for her safety, quite genuinely. 

But she’s still beautiful, and she’s here now, and she’s never going to leave him again. 

* * *

“Cloud, we’re here to help!” Yuffie bursts forth with enthusiasm, but they all stop dead at the scene that awaits them. 

“Oh, shit,” Cid mumbles.

Charlie’s breath hitches. Nanaki has already reached Cloud, Tifa, and Barret, and they aren’t alone. Rufus, Scarlet, and Hojo have joined them, and her brother is looking at her in a way she doesn’t like one bit, hungry for _something._

“Char, you don’t look well,” Rufus calls out to her in his most charming voice, a sneer curling his lips. “What a striking coincidence it is to meet you here.”

Charlie doesn’t falter. “Leave us alone, Rufus, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You need to see a doctor. Let me take you home to Midgar and—” As Rufus takes a step forward, everyone shifts at once, hands on their weapons. Cid and Vincent step in front of her, impeding her brother’s progress. He stops, smiling pointedly. “Is this how it’s going to be, Char? What have you been telling them?”

“Only the truth,” she snaps.

Rufus bursts into laughter. “The truth has always been an unfamiliar concept to you, sweet sister.”

She doesn’t answer him, instead turning to Cloud, peering around Cid’s torso. “Cloud, let’s go,” she urges him, hoping he’s smart enough to leave here without causing any trouble, but Cloud doesn’t move. “Cloud, _let’s go_.”

Cloud looks at them all, apologetic, something in his hand. Upon closer inspection, Charlie can see the Black Materia set neatly in his palm. When did that happen? What was the point of giving it to Nanaki if he was just going to take it back?

She looks around, hoping to catch sight of an easy exit, somewhere she can slip out of without drawing much attention. Something is wrong about this place, something about the atmosphere, something about the charged air . . . it reminds her of the Temple of the Ancients, and the magic she had experienced within, and it’s not an experience she would prefer to relive. 

“Isn’t this perfect!” Professor Hojo cackles as Cloud approaches, curling his fingers around the materia. Charlie’s attention is drawn away from the gleaming materia all around her, and that’s perhaps when she realizes something is terrible, terribly with _Cloud_. “It means my experiment was a complete success!”

“What experiment?” Scarlet asks, looking at Cloud with obvious disdain. 

“But you remember, Miss Shinra, don’t you?” Professor Hojo asks, and Charlie doesn’t miss the way Cid glances warily at her over his shoulder. “We spoke very briefly about a certain hypothesis of mine in Costa del Sol . . .” He looks Cloud over, examining him very critically. “Wait a minute . . . where is your tattoo? What number were you?”

“Professor Hojo, I don’t have a number,” Cloud replies. This ominous confession even makes Rufus look towards the professor, curious. “You never gave me one. You said I was a failure.”

 _No,_ Charlie thinks, horrified, _no, no, no, no . . . don’t let him be like Angeal._

Professor Hojo’s face hardens and he turns away, haughty and arrogant. “A failure!” he scoffs. “You mean only a _failure_ made it here?”

Looking to her left, Charlie is able to inch closer to Cait Sith. As Cloud begs Professor Hojo for a designated number ( _no, no, no, don’t make him be like those men in black_ ), she’s able to whisper discreetly into the cat’s ear, hidden slightly behind Vincent’s back.

“Where are you?” she breathes, lips nearly touching Cait Sith’s black-and-white fur. “Are you safe?”

“I’m fine,” he whispers back. “I’m in Midgar.”

“Does Rufus know that I know who you are?”

“No.”

She turns her face towards him, looking into those half-opened eyes. She’s about to beg him not to make things worse by playing a hero when Cloud suddenly shoots upwards, hurtling towards the nest of materia above them. There are a few gasps, but Rufus’s face seems to soften as he thinks, teeth digging into his lower lip. 

“Who was that?” he asks, looking up still. 

“The boy imagined himself as a SOLDIER First Class, even dressed like one, but . . .” Professor Hojo laughs again, looking directly at Charlie. “We both know that’s not true, isn’t that right, Miss Shinra? Surely you recognize the sword of your former lover?” The way he spits the last two words at her sends a chill down her spine. “He’s no SOLDIER. He’s a Sephiroth clone I created after the real Sephiroth died five years ago.”

Charlie and Cait Sith look at each other for a moment, and it’s as if she’s looking right at Reeve, able to picture his face so clearly. 

“Jenova cells and mako, along with my knowledge and expertise on the subject, were combined with both science and nature to bring him to life,” Hojo continues, and Charlie feels frozen on her feet. “I confess, I am not thrilled with the failure part, but . . . at last . . . the Jenova Reunion Theory has been proven!”

“The Jenova Reunion Theory?” Rufus asks again, troubled. It’s good to see that he recognizes trouble when it arises. 

“Even if Jenova’s body is dismembered, it will eventually become one again. Even scattered across the planet, the dismembered body parts will find their way to each other . . .” Professor Hojo continues, sounding delighted. “I have been waiting five years now for the reunion to begin, and now . . . finally . . . the clones have begun to return . . .”

“You were going to have the reunion at Midgar?” Charlie blurts out, unable to stop herself. “Is that why you were keeping Jenova at the Shinra Building?”

Hojo’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Perhaps you’re smarter than I give you credit for,” he chortles, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Although, it never happened, as Jenova itself began moving away from the Shinra Building. But I, being the genius I am, figured it out . . . and it was all Sephiroth’s doing.”

“Sephiroth is alive, then?” she asks. 

“It depends on what you might consider ‘alive’, Miss Shinra,” Professor Hojo tells her. “Sephiroth is not just content to diffuse his will into the Lifestream. He wants to manipulate the clones himself.”

For the first time, Charlie looks right at Tifa. If she weren’t so far away, so close to her brother and Professor Hojo, she might break free of her friends and race to Tifa’s side. Dropping to her knees, Tifa holds her head in her hands, but Barret is there to help her. 

“I left Shinra in order to follow the clones, to see where it was they were planning to assemble, but I could never figure it out.” Hojo smiles again, glancing up above them. Cloud isn’t visible anymore, hidden completely in the roots, silent. “But I knew that, at the end of their journey, Sephiroth would be there.”

“Sephiroth . . .” Charlie meets Vincent’s eyes as he turns around, most likely thinking the same thing she is. “. . . is here?”

“We need to go,” Vincent murmurs, just as the cavern begins to rumble and shake, the nest above their heads cracking and stretching. 

Charlie hesitates, looking up as something drops from the nest, exposing itself to everyone below. She hardly hears anything around her, and Cid is letting out a string of curses as rocks and debris rains down upon them. 

It’s a large crystal of sorts ( _no,_ she thinks, _mako_ ), but it’s the something _within_ that interests her, a man that she recognizes very clearly. She’s seen him before—not _him_ , but a physical projection of him—in the Temple of the Ancients, and the memory of his sword being brought down upon Tseng makes her tense, her entire body freezing up. 

“Lottie, you okay?” Cid asks, weapon drawn, stance wide. 

_No,_ she wants to say, eyes roving over the long, silver hair, the broad chest and smooth skin, muscles thick and eyes closed. _No, no, no, no, no._

“There he is! Sephiroth!” Hojo exclaims. “How perfect! Sephiroth’s will and the Jenova Reunion! They won’t be diffused into the Lifestream, but gathered here . . .”

“Don’t you realize, Hojo,” Tifa begins desperately, Barret’s good arm wrapped around her shoulders, “Cloud has the Black Materia! Sephiroth will be able to summon Meteor now! He’s going to wipe out the planet!”

Rufus touches his chin, deep in thought. He looks very serious, very pensive, looking first at Charlie before the rest of her friends. “We must evacuate,” he insists, and she can feel her heart nearly explode with love for him. “For protecting my sweet sister, I feel inclined to offer you a way of escape. All of you, come with me. There’s much I still want to know.”

“C’mon, Cloud, let’s go! Stop fuckin’ around!” Barret shouts, helping Tifa to his feet. No one seems at all hesitant to accept Rufus’s offer for help, not when it’s the only one available to them. 

“Cloud!” Tifa screams, looking over her shoulder as Barret continues to drag her out of the cavern after Rufus and Scarlet. 

“We aren’t just going to leave him here, are we?” Charlie asks everyone at large, but no one seems to hear her, or they choose to ignore her. 

“There ain’t time for this, honey, we gotta go,” Cid tells her, taking her by the hand and leading her from the cavern, their friends hot on their heels. 

Charlie looks back one last time, just to see if Cloud is looking back, and watches him push his hand through the mako that surrounds Sephiroth, handing over the Black Materia and dooming them all. 

* * *

It feels _fucking_ good to be aboard his ship again, but he thinks the circumstances could be a little better. 

The scumbag, asshole president had brought his sister onto the bridge immediately, leaving himself and the rest of his friends on the deck to witness the blast of energy that surges from the crater, forcing the _Highwind_ to battle violent turbulence, throwing everyone around who isn’t holding onto the rails with white-knuckle grips. 

It’s not just the pulsing white energy that shoots up from the crater, either. The beam of light isn’t even the worst fucking part—not even close. 

From the depths of the crater come the monsters—impossibly big creatures that could crush the _Highwind_ beneath their feet without even feeling it. Wings and horns and glowing hearts that seem absolutely fucking deadly—they have it all, and as one of them takes to the skies, the wind off of its wings shakes the _Highwind_ once more, this time causing a little more trouble. 

Yuffie nearly falls off the side, but Cid is able to catch her, and Tifa falls hard on the ground, landing headfirst and unable to get back up afterwards. Barret screams her name, but she doesn’t wake, and he’s forced to hold her tight in order to keep her from being flung over the railing to fall to her death. 

There are five monsters in total, each deadlier-looking than the last, but the ship is able to outfly them, putting a healthy amount of distance between them. 

Cid runs a hand down his face. This is bad. This is real bad. Tifa is unconscious, and now Rufus Shinra has Lottie, and he doesn’t know what’s gonna happen to her, and he doesn’t know what’s gonna happen to the world or him, and Shera, oh Gods, Shera is at his house with no idea where he is in the world, and he’s on the ship with his name on it, and—

“Listen,” comes Cait Sith’s voice, and Cid jumps nearly six feet off the deck.

“What’dya want, you fuckin’ cat?” Cid hisses, trying to think. “I’m tryin’ to think of a plan to get Lottie back.”

“That’s what I wanna talk to you about,” the cat says very gravely. “You _can’t_ cause a scene. If you do somethin’ stupid, Charlie’s gonna be the one who get punished.”

_Fuck. There goes every goddamn plan I had._

“I know you have no reason to do so,” Cait Sith continues, “but I need you to trust me. I’m gonna take care of things with Charlie, okay?”

Cid narrows his eyes, reaching out to wrap his fingers around the cat’s skinny little throat and lifting him bodily off the moogle. “Listen here, you Shinra _fuck_ ,” he spits, right in the toy’s face. “I’m gonna trust you ‘cause I ain’t got any ideas, but if that fucking girl has so much on a _scratch_ on her when you get her back, not only will I throw this fuckin’ toy body off the side of my goddamn airship, but I will come to Midgar myself to kill you.”

“All right! All right! Put me down, would ya!”

Throwing the cat against the moogle’s chest, Cid lights a cigarette, breathing deep. 


	57. Chapter 57

“Let them go, Rufus. They have done nothing but protect me. They’re my friends.”

“They’re terrorists, and they deserve to be executed for their crimes, every one of them.” Rufus steps closer to her, looking almost amused. “Tell me, Char, what are you willing to exchange for your friends’ lives?”

She had expected this from the beginning, and knew that it would not be so easy as only asking nicely. The truth is, Charlie is willing to sacrifice very much if it means her friends are safe. If they are stopped now, who will find Cloud? Who will defeat Sephiroth? They would never forgive her, or like her, if she didn’t try to bargain for their lives. 

She may have been responsible for the almost-death of Shera, and she is definitely partially responsible for the casualties suffered from the reactor bombings, but she will not be responsible for the imprisonment and execution of the people she calls her friends. She will not let them die, especially not such a cruel death as Rufus has in mind, she’s sure. 

Charlie moves closer to Rufus, relatively safe within the confines of an empty cabin. He doesn’t move, allowing her to saunter nearer, stiffening when she places a hand to his chest, her face very close to his.

“I’ll stay this time,” she whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth very softly. His skin is so smooth, always cleanly-shaven. Sometimes it feels like she’s kissing herself. “I’ll stay with you, and it can be you and me, just like we always dreamed of.” 

With her splayed palm over his heart, she can feel it begin to beat a little harder. He cranes his neck forward, as if hoping for another kiss. That’s all it takes for her to know that she’s won, and she obliges him that reward, keeping her expression one of remorse, of regret, apologetic. 

“I’ve been so lonely, Rufus,” she continues, the tip of his nose bumping against her forehead, nuzzling lightly against her hairline. “Ever since Tseng died, I’ve been thinking of how I could make my way back to you.”

He scowls, eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t lie to me—”

“I’m not, I promise.” She kisses him again, just barely, just enough to keep him wanting. Wrapping his tie around her hand, she pulls his face closer to her own, trying to make it all sound convincing. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Charlie wraps her arms around his middle and puts her cheek to his chest. He’s wary, but eventually succumbs, as she knew he would. She won’t deny the strange comfort she finds within her brother’s arms, but she thinks it might be due to the fact that Rufus is, quite possibly, the only person who really understands what she’s going through in regards to Tseng. 

Perhaps she just feels sorry for lying to him. Who else does Rufus have, if not her? Is it fair for her to just abandon him, her family, during his time of need? Since when did it become her responsibility to hold Rufus’s hand?

When she thinks of all the beatings he had taken for her, she softens. He had comforted her when she needed it, given her anything she wanted whenever she wanted it. She had always felt safe around him as a child, and wanted and appreciated and loved. 

If someone had loved him the way Veld and Reeve and Tseng had loved _her_ , Charlie thinks Rufus could have been the brother she needed. 

_I could have been a better sister, too,_ she thinks, feeling sorry for herself. _Who would we be if we weren’t Shinras?_

“If I let your friends go, then you’re mine, Char,” Rufus murmurs into her hair, holding her close. “Do you understand me? Or must I make it clearer for you?”

“Let them go and give Tifa medical care, then I’m yours forever.”

“I don’t care what anyone says, you know. If anyone says anything about us, I’ll have them killed. I’ll kill them all, if I have to.”

The hand between her shoulder blades moves slowly upwards to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling through her hair. And then, he jerks hard. Charlie opens her mouth to cry out, but stifles it at the last minute. His lips hover inches from her own, and when he speaks, it’s soft, just for her. 

“And if you’re lying to me,” Rufus breathes, “then I’ll kill you, Charlotte. I will kill you and all of your friends.” 

He kisses her bottom lip, twisting his hand in her hair to force her to her knees. Her knees slam hard against the metal ground, and this time, she can’t help but cry out, her face level with his belt. 

His thumb strokes her cheekbone for a moment. “Make it quick, Char. I have to meet with Heidegger.”

Charlie hesitates, but thinks of her friends, thinks of leaving Cid alone to die, thinks of what might happen to Cloud if someone friendly doesn’t find him in time. 

She thinks of Reeve, the gentle way he would bring his fingers through her hair, the small smile on his face to let her know it was all right, the blush to his cheeks that was so lovely. 

She raises her hands to unbuckle his belt deftly, her knees screaming in protest.

* * *

“Charlotte!” He makes sure it’s his voice filtering through the cat, ensuring that his office door is locked, his phones forwarded to avoid any distractions, even from his assistant. “Rude’s standing guard now—we only have a few short minutes, I think—”

Charlie kneels down before the toy, reaching out to touch his arms, squeezing gently as if Reeve could feel it. Phantom fingers seem to curl around his bicep, just like she used to do. “Then listen carefully and don’t interrupt me, because I have a lot to tell you.”

Reeve instinctively leans closer to the monitor, needing to hear every word, needing to form a solid plan before it’s too late and Charlie is lost to them forever. He’s only glad that he can still count Rude as another ally, who had come to fetch him off the deck with a sense of urgency, promising him no more than five minutes alone with Charlie. 

“I was able to negotiate your release with Rufus. He’s willing to let you all go when we land in Junon, and Tifa will be provided with the finest medical care,” she whispers very quickly.

“Negotiate?” Reeve asks, a thrill of terror shooting down his spine. “What does that mean? Charlie, what happened? What did he make you do?”

She doesn’t answer, only looks steadily at him for a few long moments. That makes Reeve nervous, especially because she isn’t denying anything. That alone is so unlike her that it throws him off, terrifies him. And now that he looks at her, her hair looks a little messy, like someone had been handling it rather roughly, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are swollen.

Reeve has fucked her more than enough times to know what she looks like afterwards. 

“Is he letting you go, as well?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she assures him, when she seems to feel that too much time has passed, lowering her hand from Cait Sith’s arms. “All that matters is that everyone— _especially_ you—is safe.” Charlie settles on her knees, continuing without taking a single breath. “Now, listen, Rufus’s goal is to destroy Sephiroth and the Weapons. All he asks is that we all sit down with him when we get to Junon and tell him what we know about both of those things, and then you’re all free to go.”

“He’s going to put you in a cell, you know,” Reeve tells her. “He’s going to imprison you for treason.”

Charlie smiles weakly. “Don’t worry about me, really. I can handle Rufus. Not all battles need to be fought with weapons, you know.”

“What did he do to you?”

“I’ll be okay.” Her smile fades quickly, her expression changing to a very serious thing he dislikes. “Shinra has the manpower to fight off the Weapons, if need be. While Rufus is distracted with that, you guys need to find Cloud before someone else does.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Cait Sith nods. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry for all of this. I should have told you that Rufus was coming, but he threatened to hurt you if I said anything and I couldn’t risk—”

She smiles again, shaking her head. “No, don’t apologize. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“We should never have left Icicle Inn. You weren’t well enough, and we pushed you. I should have stayed behind with you until—”

“The world can’t stop for me,” she says softly, not angry in the slightest. 

She’s changed, but he doesn’t have time to address it. He thinks he likes this new-Charlie, but he liked the old-Charlie, too, spoiled brat that she was. 

There’s a swift knock on the door of Charlie’s temporary room (which is no bigger than a closet, but furnished with a bed, sink, mirror, and armchair) and Rude pokes his head in. “Hurry up,” he urges them, “the clock is ticking.”

Cait Sith nods at him, waiting for the door to close again before Reeve speaks through him once more. “We’ll see each other again soon,” he tells her, wondering if it’s the truth. He wants it to be.

Charlie smiles again. “Right,” she says.

Completely of his own accord (or perhaps because the idea sticks out in the forefront of Reeve’s own mind so vividly), Cait Sith leans forward to wrap his small arms around Charlie. Reeve can’t tell if she hugs him back, but it makes his chest tighten to know that he’s missed out on so many little moments simply by not being there. 

When they pull away from each other, Reeve can think of a million questions he’s burning to ask her, unsure if she wants to know the answers to all of them. 

“Charlotte, did Rufus hurt you?”

“No,” she says, and Reeve can’t see any evidence at all that the president has physically assaulted her at all, but he also knows there are other ways for Rufus to hurt Charlie, ways that might hurt her a little more subtly. “Listen, I know you’re very good at worrying, but I need you to trust me. I know what I’m doing, and if I’m going to keep you safe, I need leverage over him.”

“No one is expecting you to do anything like this—”

“Reeve,” she whispers, an incredulous little smile on her face, eyes shiny with tears. “I would do _anything_ for you.”

He feels the wind get knocked out of him. It makes him want to cry, makes him ache for easier days, sweet kisses in the mornings, murmured words of affection as they drift off to sleep together, lost in their own worlds where it’s only the two of them. 

“But why?” he has to ask, unprompted and juvenile. 

Charlie hesitates, looking over his feline friend. Reeve knows her. She knows that she would rather talk to _him,_ not Cait Sith, but perhaps she knows she may not get that chance. 

“Because I love you. Now _go_ ,” she urges him kindly, giving the cat a gentle push. “Tell the others what I’ve just said. I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

He hasn’t been to Junon in a long time, and can’t say whether or not he’s pleased that it looks the same as it did when he left. 

He’s been inside Shinra’s Junon Command Center a few times, only when he had been an active part of the military. The interior of it is a little dated and beginning to rust in some places, the entire building made of steel, a cold and imposing place. 

He, and the rest of his companions (except for Charlie and Tifa, who still hasn’t woken after her tumble aboard the deck of the _Highwind_ ), are escorted by four armed infantrymen to a gaudy fucking conference room with fancy carpets and computer screens and furniture. 

There’s no one else inside, and they’re told to sit and wait quietly. Cid sits down between Vincent and Cait Sith. It seems as if everyone is painfully aware of the absence of their other friends, one of them having been their leader. 

They’re only waiting five minutes, not daring to speak with the guards standing watch at each corner of the room. The door opens very swiftly, revealing the bald Turk that had been in Wutai, holding the door open for the two people who trail after him. 

Rufus and Charlie walk in together. She’s seemingly freshened up a little bit, changed her clothes and brushed her hair and put some makeup on, looking more like the vice president than she has in weeks. 

They sit down at the end of the table, side-by-side. Charlie doesn’t even look at him, preferring to look everywhere but. She and her brother could be twins, for all Cid knows, with the same fucking faces and the same fucking hair color. He hates it, hates that Charlie has to be associated with such a goddamn prick. 

“I think we can all agree that, given the current situation that we have found ourselves in, it would be beneficial for us all to cooperate.” Rufus looks around the room, looking curiously at Cid and smiling smugly behind his fingers before continuing. “We all share the same goal, and Shinra has no desire to stand by while Sephiroth attempts to destroy the planet, nor do we intend to allow these . . . _Weapons_ to wreak havoc on our cities, killing our people, destroying livelihoods.” 

Barret seems the most skeptical, but Cid is impressed with the fact that he decides to keep his mouth shut. Though, it may be because Cait Sith had warned them all not to do anything that might incite harm against Charlie. 

“Let’s not pretend that you all are severely weakened by the loss of your . . . _SOLDIER_ ,” Rufus says slowly, raising his eyebrows at the mention of Cloud. Cid doesn’t think he’s ever heard the arrogant brat talk so much. “If you think to save the world on your own, you’re delusional. My company has an entire military at its back, and weapons such as you’ve never seen.”

Everyone looks around at each other. Charlie keeps her eyes fixed on her brother. 

“If Shinra is to defeat Sephiroth once and for all, however, Char and I need to know everything.”

 _Char,_ Cid thinks, _like her father used to call her._

“Now, my lovely sister and I have discussed it, and once I’m satisfied with the information you have given me, you are all free to go. Your other friend, Tifa, will stay here to receive the best medical care Shinra has to offer. So long as you stay out of Shinra’s way, then you are free to do as you wish. Is that agreeable?”

Everyone looks around again. Cid thinks it’s perfectly fucking agreeable, but there’s one more thing on his mind. “And what about the vice president?”

Rufus smiles wider. It is malicious and very, _very_ unsettling. He’s suddenly very afraid for Charlie. “My sweet sister will not be joining you, wherever it is you decide to go. But I am very grateful, Captain, for your help in returning her to me.”

For the first time, Charlie looks right at him. She doesn’t look half as afraid as _he_ is. 

Rufus speaks directly to Cid, oblivious to everyone else in the room. “It is because of the love I bear for her that I have agreed to these requests of hers, and I think it would be very irresponsible to not take full advantage of the pardon I am offering you, Captain Highwind. If you have grievances with my offer, then perhaps you might consider the leverage I currently hold over you.”

Cid exhales loudly, frustrated that no one else speaks up on behalf of Charlie. She doesn’t even speak up for _herself._ Is she really just going to sit there while her own brother makes thinly veiled threats against her?

_Don’t make it worse for her, you fucking idiot. Don’t be the reason she gets hurt. Don’t fuck this up for her._

“Don’t look so uncomfortable, Cid,” Rufus chortles, shrugging his shoulders and giving his neck a sharp flick to rid the hair from his eyes. “You have nothing to fear, so long as you turn around and walk away the moment we’re done here. If you think I _desire_ to hurt my sister, then I fear you desperately wrong me.”

Cait Sith’s foot suddenly connects with Cid’s knee. He turns away from Rufus, scowling at the cat. 

“Now . . .” Rufus smiles warmly at everyone seated around the table. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

Charlie isn’t surprised when Rufus forces her into a cell again after hearing everything he needed to from her friends—about Sephiroth, about Cloud, about Weapon, about Meteor and the Black Materia, about Aerith claiming she was the only one who could stop Sephiroth, and how Aerith is dead now and it may all have been for nothing. 

She had almost been sick when Barret recounted where it all began—for Tifa and Cloud, anyway. He had told them all about the terrible disaster at Nibelheim, about Sephiroth’s descent into madness, about the human experiments being kept within the reactor. 

All she could think about was Angeal, and yet, she could almost hear his voice very faintly in the back of her head.

_It wasn’t your fault. None of it was ever your fault._

The cell isn’t really a cell, by any means. It’s really a cell meant for political rivals or high-ranking criminals, so it offers every comfort, just like the cell in Midgar, but this one has windows. Granted, Charlie isn’t tall enough to see out of them and they’re too small for her to crawl through, but she’s able to see the sky. 

There’s a bed and a private bathroom and a television, as well as several books on military strategy and planetology. Charlie resigns herself to the idea that there will be no escape from this cell on her own, but time is running short with Sephiroth in control of the Black Materia, and it’s difficult to discern who she might still be able to trust within Shinra. 

Barret had decided to stay with Tifa until she was awake again, and then they would leave together the moment she was well enough. Knowing that she at least has two friends still in the city with her is a reassuring thought, and Rude may still be wandering about Junon, as well, but she’ll have to tread carefully around a Turk, without knowing how involved Rufus is with them at the moment. 

Rufus slams the door shut as Charlie is looking around. With her back to him, it sends a chill down her spine, and she whirls around as quickly as possible. “How does it feel to know that your friends have all abandoned you, Char?” he sneers, moving closer to her. “Do you regret it now, ever calling them your friends?”

Charlie decides not to rise to the bait, ignoring him to cross the room again, pretending to be interested in the many books on the shelves. 

“I thought for certain that your pilot would try to steal you away. I even put precautions in place, having been expecting him to do something so incredibly stupid, and he just . . . _left_ without a word.” Rufus laughs, genuine laughter, like it’s funny. “Who would have thought it would be so easy? Though . . . it didn’t stop me from roughing him up a little bit.”

She stiffens, her imagination running wild. “What did you do to Cid?” she asks in a level voice.

“What does it matter to you?” Rufus approaches her, placing his hands on her upper arms, his chest against her back, kissing the scar on her neck. “Do you _love_ him, Char?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, realizing too late that she should have just lied. 

Rufus grabs her roughly, spinning her around and curling his fingers around her throat, pushing her violently backwards into the shelves, so hard that it makes the books rattle. Charlie gasps, but his hand doesn’t stay at her throat for long. 

“ _Slut,_ ” Rufus hisses through his perfect teeth, looking and sounding just like their father. “You’re pathetic, always wanting attention from anyone who will give it to you, every man that even _glances_ your way. You’re so pathetic that you would even seek affection from that inbred _fuck_.” 

“Leave him be, Rufus,” she says quietly. 

“Did you fuck him just like you fucked all the rest of them?” he continues, looking very much like he did the night he beat her at Costa del Sol. “That SOLDIER, and Tseng. _Reeve._ Gods, you spread your legs for everyone, don’t you? Everyone except for me—”

“You’re my brother—”

“I loved you more than _any_ of them ever could—”

“Please get away from me,” she interrupts him, squirming against his chest as he traps her against the bookshelves. “Rufus, please stop. You’re scaring me.”

Rufus scoffs right in her face. “Don’t tell me you actually want to go back to them.” That makes him laugh again, her lack of an answer. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Do you honestly believe that I would just let my sweet sister run around with a sorry band of vigilantes?”

Charlotte doesn’t falter, standing tall to look her brother in the eyes. 

“You are a _Shinra_ , and you belong in Midgar, with me,” he continues, his eyes alight with fury, “You are the vice president of Shinra Incorporated, and I need you to _act like it_.” Rufus sneers at her, lip curled. “But you’ve always loved giving false hope to the underdogs, haven’t you? The downtrodden? The oppressed?” 

She isn’t quite sure how to respond. He’s completely mad, unhinged, hysterical, and there’s no stopping him now. Rufus has always loved to hear himself speak. 

“Always passing information to those anti-Shinra newspapers, funding orphanages in an attempt to gain public favor, building bombs to destroy your _fucking_ boyfriend’s precious reactors.” He takes hold of her face, fingertips digging into her cheeks. Squeezing hard for a few seconds seems to relieve some of his mounting frustrations, because he lets go. “You think I didn’t know? You think we _all_ didn’t know? And Tseng . . . covering your tracks every goddamn step of the way.”

Charlie’s jaw clenches shut, chest heaving. She’s prepared for the worst, but that doesn’t mean she’s excited about it. She would almost prefer he just hit her and get it over with. 

“You’ve always been against us, Char. Ever since the beginning. You’ve always wanted to see us fail . . . to see _Father_ fail.” Rufus tilts his head back and lets out a bark of laughter. “But I‘ve succeeded where Father did not. I found the Promised Land, after that fat bastard had been searching for nearly his entire life!”

“Didn’t you listen to Professor Hojo?” she asks, wondering if Rufus is completely gone to her now. “The Promised Land isn’t real. It’s only a legend.”

“Call it what you will, then, if not the Promised Land,” he replies flippantly, his eyes unfocused as he continues to look into her face. “What would Father say if he knew that _I_ did the one thing he could _never_ do?” 

Rufus smiles triumphantly, but the smile does not extend to his cold, pale eyes.

“I always knew, ever since I was young, that I would be _great_. I always knew that I would be a better president by far than Father—”

Charlie shakes her head. “You’re not better than Father, Rufus.”

Rufus snaps to attention, cheeks flushed and his smile fading. He waits patiently for her to elaborate.

“You and Father . . . you’re the same. You’re just like Father.” She can’t believe she’s saying this. She can’t believe that the words come so easily. “Greedy, power-hungry, without empathy. The both of you went _mad_ with power.”

He takes in her words, scoffing right in her face, his breath hot. “You’ve always been jealous, Char,” he snarls, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Jealous that Father chose me as his vice president over you. Jealous that Father preferred his son over his daughter. Who wouldn’t have been jealous in your position?”

She thinks of the letters left behind by her father, wondering if Rufus had found anything addressed to him. 

Rufus grins again, lowering his voice and moving a few more inches closer, until his face is directly in front of hers. “Can you keep a secret, sweet sister?”

Charlie is suddenly very uncomfortable with their closeness. 

“I was jealous once, too. Or perhaps I was bitter.” His teeth are blindingly white. Perfect, just like the rest of him. “Charlotte Shinra, the young, beautiful, charming, funny, _genius_ heiress. Charlotte Shinra, heading the company’s most ambitious project since the construction of Midgar.”

Rufus sighs almost wistfully, like he derives great pleasure from the memory. 

“The Shinra No. 26 was incredible, I’ll grant you that. Between your genius and work-ethic, and the nearly unlimited funds provided to you, there was no denying that your rocket launch would be both successful and groundbreaking.” He pauses, delighted in her discomfort. “But I always thought that the company’s money would be better spent on . . . other things.”

“What are you talking about? What does my rocket have to do with this?” A feeling of dread settles within her chest, tightening around her heart.

He looks far too eager. “I was an Avalanche informant, as well, many years ago, as well as their primary benefactor.” Another pause, and Charlie knows that she will not like whatever comes out of his mouth next. “I was the one who gave the command for Avalanche to sabotage the rocket launch. The stolen oxygen tank? It wasn’t missing. It was lying in the grass about a mile away from base camp.”

“What . . . ?”

“If you had succeeded that day, Father would have named you his new vice president,” Rufus growls, putting a hand to her shoulder and slamming her back against the shelves again, “and that wasn’t your position to _take!_ ”

Charlie’s heart stops. Her lungs fail her, and her blood runs icy cold all throughout her body. She can’t breathe, and the room is spinning, and her knees are weak. 

“You’re lying,” she chokes out.

He chuckles at the look of horror on her face. “Cheer up, sweet sister,” he says, tapping the tip of her nose lightly with his index finger. “Isn’t it almost . . . _cathartic_ to know that your rocket _would have_ gone to space, had it not been sabotaged?” He laughs to himself again. “And if it had launched, who knows? Maybe your pilot would still be in love with you.”

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She wants to hurt him. She wants to hit him, to scream at him. His words, and the casual way he had spoken them, light a raging fire within her, and she’s quiet for a long time as she allows herself to digest the reality of what he’s saying.

And then, Charlie spits very loudly. A fat glob of saliva lands on the bridge of her brother’s long nose, flecks of it in his eyebrows and eyelashes and on his cheeks. It drips down the tip of his nose as he blinks a few times, registering what’s just happened. 

Very calmly, Rufus drags a hand down his face and wipes the spit off. He meets her eyes for a split second again and, without warning, he strikes Charlie across the face with all the force he can muster.

Charlie drops immediately upon contact, the force of his hand turning her head. Her cheek feels like it’s beginning to swell already, stinging and throbbing very painfully. Tears spring to her eyes, and it takes her a moment to compose herself again, breathing heavily as she sits crumpled on the floor. 

Rufus kneels down in front of her, grabbing her by the hair (just like Sephiroth did, and the memory makes her panic) and pulling her into a sitting position, his eyes settling on her cheek for a moment. 

“How dare you?” he snaps at her, the back of his neck and his ears red, his skin still shiny from the remaining spit he hadn’t wiped off. “I’m going to give you _one_ chance. One chance to put all of this behind us and move on, for the love I bear you.”

Charlie drops all pretense. She isn’t going to allow Rufus to forget about this. He had sabotaged her _dream_ , having known what that meant to her. He’s the reason that her life had begun to spiral following the failed launch (or had it begun before that?), he’s the reason that she can’t let go of her past, he’s the reason for _everything._

Inhaling deeply and trying to forget the aching pain in her face, Charlie is able to get situated on her knees as Rufus releases her hair, seemingly hopeful that he’ll get the answer he wants. But she is in no mood to compromise with him, in no mood even to lie to him. She wants him to _hurt._

“I would rather die than go back to Midgar with you,” she states very calmly, watching a muscle twitch in Rufus’s cheek. 

His face hardens, and Charlie knows that something within him has snapped. Taking hold of her chin again, he tightens his fingers around her face so painfully that she’s sure there will be bruises. 

“I loved you more than anyone could have ever loved you,” he snarls in her face. “I gave you _everything._ I made sure you never lacked for or wanted anything. I made sure you were able to live your _perfect_ little life . . . and did I ever receive any of your gratitude? Did you ever think to thank me? No.” He pulls her face closer. “You repaid my kindness by trying to destroy the company—our _father’s_ company . . . you would have had that good-for-nothing pilot kill me if it meant you could be in my place . . . sitting in my chair . . . filling shoes that will _always_ be too big for you. Do you regret it now? All the information you passed?”

“The only thing I regret is you,” she spits, and Rufus flinches as if she’s struck him. “Shame on me for _ever_ letting you touch me.”

“Don’t pretend now that you never _begged_ me for it.”

“I shouldn’t have. You weren’t worth it.”

“I was better for you than Reeve.”

“Reeve is a thousand times the man you are.”

Rufus looks fully prepared to kill her right now. “I hope you’re willing to die by those words.”

Charlie purses her lips tight, giving him a curt nod. Let him kill her—or, let him _try._ Even if he succeeds, death would be a mercy compared to what may await her in Midgar, if she chooses to return with Rufus. 

“I’ll give you until the girl wakes up, and all three of you will be executed as the eco-terrorists that wished destruction upon our great city of Midgar.”

She smiles cruelly, surprisingly unafraid. Killing her means sending her back to Mother, back to Tseng and Angeal. “You would make me a martyr.”

Rufus raises his eyebrows, skeptical. “You have a lot of faith in the people, sister. Do you really believe you have their full-blown support? You think they will rally behind someone who was responsible for the deaths of their friends and families and loved ones?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “My friends will come for me.”

“If they want you to live, they’ll be smart enough to stay far, far away from here.”

Charlie suddenly feels very powerful in front of him. She may not have the public’s full support, but she has a hard time believing they would approve of Rufus’s decision to execute his own sister. It will not be a popular decision, and the idea of the population turning their backs on Shinra seems a dream. 

“Even if you kill me, my friends will come to return the favor,” she continues, speaking very quietly, very confident. “Vincent would tear you apart. Cid would put your head on a spike. They will come to save me or avenge me, just as I would do for them.”

Rufus hums. “Then I suggest you start making your peace.” He gets back to his feet, brushing himself off. “Tseng isn’t here to save you from me _this_ time.”

When he leaves, Rufus slams the door behind him, and Charlie hears the tell-tale sound of a clicking lock. 

* * *

He sees it for the first time while he’s in the backyard of the house in Kalm, distractedly kicking a soccer ball back-and-forth with Marlene as he tries to think of ways to save Charlie. 

It causes the sky to turn bright orange, like a permanent sunset. There’s no telling how big it is or how far away it is, but it seems very close, like the impact will come within days. Until then, Meteor will continue to hover, a threatening and foreboding presence in the sky, a second sun. 

It frightens Marlene, who clutches to his leg as they both look up at it, unable to look away despite how badly he wants to. “Get inside, Marlene, and stay there,” he urges her a little shortly, just as his phone begins to ring. She obeys without question, and Reeve puts the phone up to his ear, trying to determine how much longer he’ll be alive. “Hello?”

“ _What the hell is going on?_ ”

He hesitates, sighing. “I can explain,” he tells Tseng, glancing back towards the house, where Marlene watches him from the kitchen window, her face appearing between the drapes. “I’ll be there in two hours. I think I’m going to need your help with something.”

* * *

“We can’t just leave Lottie behind.”

No one argues against it, which seems to calm Cid. He thinks for a moment, knowing that the idea of a rescue mission is incredibly risky. With Rufus so close to her, any botched attempt at a discreet extraction will surely result in harm to her, if not death. 

And with Tifa and Barret still in Junon (and with Tifa in a very vulnerable position), Cid knows that they’re going to be sacrificing a lot if they fuck things up. But, if they don’t try, Meteor will probably kill them all within a few days anyway, so isn’t it worth it to try?

They had all decided to regroup in a small village a few miles southeast of Junon, a village where many off-duty Shinra infantrymen come to drink and fuck, far enough away from the steel city to be considered a vacation, but close enough that they don’t have to worry about securing long-distance travel to return to their posts if needed. 

Without Cloud, Charlie, Barret, or Tifa, there is no proper leader, no one to put them in their place or offer suggestions, even if they’re bad ones. No one is confident enough with a plan to speak up, and even Cid has to admit defeat. He has no idea what they could do to help Charlie at this point, but he desperately wants to try. 

Sitting around a table in the corner of the local pub, Cait Sith is the first one to speak up. “We’re only gonna get one chance at this, so we need to make it count,” he says, lacking his signature moogle to better fit into the booth. “If we get it wrong, Charlie’s as good as dead. Now, we’re gonna need to secure transportation in order to—”

“Wait a minute!” Yuffie interrupts him, too young to drink, nursing a glass of water after they had all laughed at her. “Who the hell made _you_ the leader?”

Cait Sith seemingly bristles, for as much as a toy can. “I know a little more ‘bout the inner workings of Shinra than any of you do—”

“Let him talk, brat,” Cid snaps at her, wanting to hear Cait Sith’s suggestion. He’ll take _any_ suggestion at this point. “I wanna hear.”

“Well . . .” Cait Sith looks around the table. Everyone leans forward. “I have an idea, but it’s crazy, and it’ll only work if everyone’s on board.”

“I can handle crazy,” Cid answers with a shrug. “Keep talkin’, cat.”

“Good. First, we’re gonna steal the _Highwind._ ”

Cid claps his hands together, whistling. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

“How do you expect us all to just walk into Junon again?” Nanaki asks. “They’ll never let us get so close to Shinra’s most prized airship.”

“Don’t worry . . .” Cait Sith lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I have a plan . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe follow me on twitter @dumb_apple_


	58. Chapter 58

_So this is how it ends._

Tseng looks away from the sky and down at his trembling hands, standing before the hospital room’s window. His hands always seem to shake lately, even when he curls his fingers, pressing his fingernails into his palm so hard they draw blood.

Meteor sits in the sky, mocking and taunting him, the inevitable end creeping ever closer with every passing hour. He had survived his encounter with Sephiroth at the Temple of the Ancients only to find that his days are now numbered, and he’s stuck inside a hospital, unable to do anything about it. 

The memory of it still haunts his sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see is Sephiroth’s triumphant face, the evident panic on Charlotte’s face as she had held him while he bled out, the aching pain of the violent scar across his abdomen. 

After seeing the scar in a mirror, he’s since taken great pains to avoid looking at it again. It’s swollen and tender and horribly ugly, contrasting against his light skin in a very unfortunate sort of way. The very sight of it brings bile to the back of his throat, setting his esophagus on fire. 

He’s made his decision, though he isn’t confident about it. Too much has happened too quickly, and the only information he’s receiving from the outside world (or rather, the only information that matters to him at this moment) comes from Reeve, who has finally garnered the courage to defect completely from the company in order to save Charlotte from the hands of President Rufus Shinra. 

Reeve had come to them begging for help, from him and Veld both, desperate to keep Charlotte away from her brother, desperate to keep her alive and well and happy, and isn’t that what they wanted and didn’t they love her and how could they stand by and let this happen without even trying to help her?

It had been a very tiring conversation, and Tseng’s loyalty to Rufus Shinra has always been unshakeable, something he’s always prided himself in. His steadfast loyalty to Rufus Shinra is what has kept him _alive_ all these years. To turn his back on the president would mean to turn his back on the company, going against everything he believed in and worked for during his years with the Turks. 

And yet, the president had left him for dead at the Temple of the Ancients, while Reeve had gone out of his way, and risked his life, to save him. Reeve had entrusted Tseng’s life with an old friend instead of the cold and calculating president, keeping them both out from under the company’s sometimes oppressive influence. 

Veld had been agreeable from the start. He was already, officially, branded a traitor, and given the lengths he was willing to go to protect his own distanced and troubled daughter, Tseng wasn’t surprised to hear that Veld was so eager to protect Charlotte, as well. 

But Tseng had had doubts. How many times had he told her, _it’s better this way_? 

Now, Tseng isn’t certain if he had meant to reassure himself or Charlotte with that excuse. It would have been easier to keep his distance, to remain detached, to stop things before they became too intimate, too dangerous. But it had been impossible with the amount of time they had spent together, and Charlotte was so charming and so friendly and so funny that it was difficult to stifle his smiles and warm feelings towards her. 

“I’m loyal to the company,” he had said to both Reeve and Veld, the back of his neck very hot. “I’m still their leader, and it’s my responsibility to—”

“You’re loyal to _Shinra_ ,” Veld reminded him, very stern, very gruff, raising his eyebrows to impress his point. “You made a promise.”

Tseng closes the blinds, not wanting to look at Meteor anymore, pacing back and forth. His legs feel weak, and pacing makes him feel out of breath, when once he could walk miles without even thinking about it. He’ll never be the same, and in a few days, it won’t matter, because he’ll be dead, along with the rest of the world. 

It had been easy, when Charlotte and Rufus were allies and friends, when their goals aligned (for the most part). 

But now, he’s made his choice, made his bed, dug his grave, and he’s not entirely sure it was the right decision to begin with. But after everything, after all he’s done to Charlotte, and after Zack, and Aerith . . . 

He will not fail again.

* * *

The first evening of her capture, she’s moved from her holding cell to another cell somewhere in the middle of the command center, which means no windows and no sunshine and no stars. 

She wouldn’t even call it a cell at all. When she asks if there was something wrong with her old cell, Rufus tells her the new one is where he was kept for the first few months of his house arrest, sounding simultaneously proud and bitter about that fact. 

It’s a multi-room cell, with a private bedroom and bathroom, a kitchen and living room, televisions in every room and a fully-stocked liquor cabinet with a lock on it. There is food in the kitchen, but she lacks the cooking skills to do anything with the rich ingredients. The bedding seems clean, and there are cameras set up to observe every room in full view, the only room with any privacy being the bathroom. 

There is no artwork on the walls, no decorations to make the place feel like home. Charlie can’t help but feel sorry for Rufus, having to live in such a terrible place, all by himself, under constant surveillance, even while he slept. She can’t imagine being confined to such a space, not even able to see the blue of the sky.

If she had known this was where Father had brought him, Charlie thinks she might have made more of an effort to get to him. He was only just sixteen at the time, or close enough, without friends or a nurturing presence in his life. 

It was only after she cried to her father for _months_ did he allow Rufus to move into the villa in Costa del Sol. Even then, Rufus had been only a boy, taking the punishment that Charlie deserved. And even then, when Charlie would visit Rufus, a Turk would always be with them, and they would be forced to find stolen moments throughout the day when no one was looking. 

Rufus has brought some of her things here, as if he had prepared this place in advance. When she had first inspected the cell, she had found some of her best clothes hanging in a tall wardrobe, and her finest jewelry (all jewelry bought by Rufus himself) had been laid out at the foot of the bed. 

But now, they eat dinner within the cell, at a rectangular dining table between the kitchen and living room, like today never even happened. Dark Nation rests at Rufus’s feet, breathing heavily beneath the table. 

Rufus refills her wine glass without needing prompting. 

She’s on her third glass of wine, having hardly eaten any of her food, her appetite gone. She hasn’t been drunk for a while, but whatever is coming for her after dinner, she knows it will be easier with a few drinks in her. 

Twenty minutes into a silent meal, Rufus asks her, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Charlie lifts her eyes and hesitates. “Talk about what?”

“Tseng.”

Drunkenly, _stupidly_ , she answers, “What do you want me to say? That he was a better brother to me than you ever were?”

She doesn’t really know if it’s true, but it earns her a beating. It’s a sharp tug of her hair and a hard swat across the face, and she struggles the entire time, which earns her another swat, but afterwards, Rufus curls up beside her in bed and falls asleep with an arm wrapped protectively around her waist. 

The second day, as Rufus is away, Charlie looks everywhere for a way to escape. She looks for secret walls (not that she really expects to find any) or some kind of panic button. Dark Nation is her partner-in-crime, sniffing at her legs all day and yawning from her feet, rolling into his back once and whining for affection. Charlie can’t help but oblige him, then, giving his smooth and bulky stomach a few hearty pats. 

The televisions don’t work, so she throws sheets over them, just in case someone is able to monitor her through the screens. She searches for bugs in all the lamps, underneath tables, and in all the cabinets. 

She finds nothing, and the door doesn’t open no matter how much she bangs on it, screaming herself hoarse, threatening whatever guards are stationed outside, threatening whoever is watching her on the cameras. 

But no one comes.

Rufus returns for dinner, displeased to find she isn’t wearing any of the jewelry he had brought for her, but tonight, he tells her about the circumstances of his house arrest. 

It began with Avalanche, when it became known to their father that Rufus was funding a resistance group, but the decision to lock him away _here_ was made after Father had caught his two children tangled together in bed, half-naked and kissing and groping. He claims to have spent weeks recovering from the beating Father had given him for it, and does his best to make Charlie squirm by regaling the details of that night while she continues to drink. 

_Why didn’t Father lock me away?_ she can’t help but think. _I was the one who instigated it most days. I was just as complicit as Rufus. I wanted him just like he wanted me._

How could she not have wanted him? He was the planet’s most eligible bachelor with pink cheeks and porcelain skin, light freckles dappling the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones, charming when he chose to be and arrogantly handsome, perfect in every way. 

No. No, no, _no_ , she can’t think that. This is how it happened before, with an empty household and no one to love her but him. That’s what he wants, and Charlie has tried too hard to get away from him to come willingly running back into his arms now. 

That night, she lies drunk on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as Rufus changes into something more appropriate for sleep. She fully expects for him to take what he wants, and she’s prepared to grudgingly give it to him, in the hopes that he might be gentle if she doesn’t struggle. 

But he does nothing of the sort, lying down for sleep beside her, snoring softly with his face pressed against the nape of her neck. 

Like that, Charlie can’t help but think that her brother really _does_ love her, but it also begs the question—who’s watching the cameras that Rufus trusts enough for them to see him so vulnerable, so loving with his own sister?

As far as she knows, only a handful of people are aware (to a certain degree) of the intimacy shared between herself and Rufus. Veld and Tseng had known, and seen it for themselves, but both of them are gone and forgotten now. Father is dead, and whatever he had known died with him. Reeve surely knows, and Cid has some idea, but neither of them would be watching the cameras.

She wonders if that’s the only reason he hasn’t taken from her already. 

Silently, she blesses the watcher, not because she’s afraid that Rufus might take from her, but because she’s afraid that it will fill the gaping hole in her heart, afraid that she’ll want him all over again, afraid that she’ll fall back into his arms and allow herself to be used to his heart’s pleasure.

* * *

He turns a corner with his head down, half-asleep, only to run right into someone, spilling his hot coffee down someone’s front. 

Thankfully, it’s only Scarlet, and Reeve takes a certain amount of vindictive pleasure from the sight of her dripping in coffee, scowling and thoroughly annoyed. 

“Are you blind or just stupid?” she snarls in his face, the exposed skin of her chest bright pink from the heat of the coffee. She tries to wipe it off, but only ends up smearing it around and making it worse. 

“Aw,” he smiles, amazed with how much joy he derives from seeing her so frustrated. “I think it’s a good look for you.”

Scarlet smiles pointedly, ignoring the coffee that continues to drip onto the carpet off her dress. The Shinra Building is surprisingly empty so early in the morning, which is a real shame because it would be even more amusing to have witnesses to such a scene. He supposes he should at least offer her something to clean herself up with, but decides against it. 

“You’re awfully smug this morning, Director,” she notes, tilting her head slightly. “I thought you might have already flung yourself at the president’s feet upon hearing the news.”

Reeve falters, the smile vanishing from his face. “Sorry, what?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Scarlet keeps smiling, this time a little more genuinely, adjusting his tie. Reeve squirms, swatting her hands away. “Your precious little Charlotte is due to be executed within the week, the filthy traitor.”

He feels the blood drain from his face, his heart stopping. “What?” he croaks, hardly able to speak. 

“Gods, you’re droll. Close your mouth, would you?”

“Where—where did you—who told you that?”

Scarlet crosses her arms over her coffee-stained chest, cocking a penciled eyebrow. “Heidegger, of course. He’s been spending a lot of time with the president these days.”

Reeve blinks at her. She has to be lying. She’s upset about the coffee and is trying to hurt him. _She has to be lying._

But he isn't going to take that chance. Despite having just returned from Junon last night, Reeve finds himself jumping into a helicopter not fifteen minutes later, headed back to the city in the hopes of stopping an execution. 

* * *

“I need to speak to the president.”

“Sorry, Reeve.” Heidegger smiles grimly, as if already knowing what Reeve wishes to discuss with Rufus. He can’t think of any reason as to why Heidegger might bear such contempt for Charlie, but he thinks it may have something to do with the way her father treated her in plain view of the director for years. “President Shinra is only seeing those with appointments.”

Reeve runs a hand through his hair, prepared to shoot Heidegger down where he stands, looking over a grunt’s shoulder at a monitor that shows the progress of the Sister Ray, which stands pretty over the polluted water of Junon Harbor. 

“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps, further angered when Heidegger continues to ignore him. “Where’s the president?”

“It’s not my job to keep tabs on the president, Director.”

Arguing will only prolong him, so Reeve tracks down a few infantrymen and gently interrogates them until he finds who he’s looking for. 

Palmer has his feet up in an empty break room, drinking hot tea as he combs through a newspaper. Anger must show on Reeve’s face, because when Palmer looks up and notices he’s no longer alone, he begins to panic, trying to escape the break room only to find himself cornered. 

“Where is the president?” Reeve asks coldly. “I need to speak with him.”

Flattening himself as much as he can against the wall, Palmer begins to shake as Reeve approaches him slowly. “If you’re here to try to stop Char’s exe—”

Reeve reaches behind himself, pulling out the handgun that had been tucked into his belt. “I’m not going to ask again,” he says, stepping closer to Palmer, who sweats very nervously. “Tell me where Rufus is, and tell me now. I don’t have time to wander around Junon all day.”

“Don’t think the president won’t hear about this!” Palmer’s eyes flick between the gun and Reeve’s face. “Threatening a colleague! _Really_ , Reeve, I thought you had better se—”

The side of Reeve’s handgun connects violently with the side of Palmer’s face. There’s a sharp, painful cry that sounds more like a wounded animal, and Palmer drops to the ground, sobbing as he holds his bleeding face in his hands. 

“He’s in the barracks! _Gods_ , he’s in the barracks!” 

Inhaling deeply, Reeve tucks the gun back into his belt, nodding and backing away, leaving Palmer to cry alone on the floor.

Reeve does, in fact, find Rufus within an office in the barracks, listening distractedly to a commander’s many complaints about Heidegger. He lets himself into the office without knocking, and when Rufus lifts his eyes to see Reeve, he dismisses the captain in the middle of his speech, scowling when he lingers a second too long. 

“We need to talk, Mr. President,” he urges, moving forward to sit down on the opposite side of the desk, curling and uncurling his fingers, wiping his clammy palms on his pants. 

“Let’s drop the formalities, shall we? You’ve heard about Char, I assume?”

“I have.”

“And you raced here very quickly, it seems. What exactly have you heard, Reeve?”

“That you plan to have her executed within the week.” 

Rufus shrugs noncommittally, not correcting him. “She is a criminal, and is being treated as such.”

“She at least deserves a chance to explain herself—a—a trial or _something_.” Reeve’s heart beats a painful tattoo against his chest, threatening to burst. Part of him feels that he’s seen this coming for years, a last ditch effort by Rufus to secure Charlotte for himself, but Charlie had always been so certain that Rufus would never go that far, would never _really_ hurt her. “She loves you, and you would betray her in the worst possible sense. She trusted you!”

“ _Betray_ her?” Rufus snaps, standing abruptly. Reeve pushes himself to his feet, as well, not wanting to be caught in a vulnerable sitting position. “She has betrayed _me_ , in every sense of the word. She betrayed me the moment I found you two together in bed. She betrayed me the moment she agreed to marry you. She betrayed me when she _ran away_ from the perfect life I was willing to offer her.”

Reeve almost scoffs— _almost._ It would be dangerous to do something so reckless now, when the simplest thing might set Rufus off. “She ran away because she was frightened of you!” he protests, unable to stop himself. He will not let Rufus take Charlotte away. “She didn’t betray you, Rufus. Since the moment I met her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say a bad word about you, even when you were awful to her—”

“Careful, Director,” Rufus spits, gritting his teeth and making his way around the desk. “I would think very carefully about the next words to come out of your mouth.”

He knows he should walk away, especially with Rufus positioning himself directly in front of him, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms over his chest, waiting for some smug remark, no doubt. He knows that it’s in his _and_ Charlie’s best interests to walk away, knows that there will be consequences, but the words are pulled from his mouth without his permission. 

“You want to blame everyone for Charlie’s desire to leave,” Reeve says breathlessly. “But you’re the reason she left. You’re the reason she ran away. The blame lies with—”

It all happens so quickly that the only thing he can say is, “ _Fuck!_ ”

There’s a sickening _crunch!_ as Rufus’s knuckles connect with the bridge of Reeve’s nose. His hands jump to his face as he stumbles backwards over the chair he had been sitting in, thankfully catching himself before he tumbles to the ground. Warm blood flows down his face and into his mouth, staining his fingers. His face throbs in time with his heart, aching painfully. 

Rufus gives his right hand a shake. “I’ve been waiting years to do that,” he confesses flatly. “I think we’re done here, Director. It’s time for you to return to Midgar, where you belong.”

For a brief moment, the idea takes hold of him. His gun presses against the small of his back, and Reeve wonders how lucky he might get if he were to pull it out, to shoot Rufus dead, to end this madness once and for all before things go any further. 

But truthfully, Reeve doesn’t think he would have to stomach to shoot Charlie’s little brother, no matter how horrible he is. 

“At least let me say good-bye to her.” Reeve’s voice is muffled against his palm, but Rufus seems to understand him well enough. “We were together for years, engaged to be married . . . you’re not going to let me say good-bye?”

If he could just tell her to hold on a little longer . . . if he could just let her know that no one has forgotten about her, that they’re coming for her . . . 

“She doesn’t even know that you’ve been spying on her this whole time,” Rufus laughs, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Does he underestimate Charlie’s deduction abilities so much? She had known it was him because of a simple exchange of a few words between himself and Tseng, but it’s better this way. “What would she say, I wonder? Where is your friend anyway?”

“In Midgar,” he lies swiftly, trying to determine whether or not the president believes him. “I have no use for him anymore. Everyone split off and went home after you let them go.”

“Good.” Rufus’s eyes sweep up and down Reeve, lingering on his bloody face and broken nose. “It means they know what will happen if they try to save Char.”

* * *

They’re forced to wait.

Cait Sith is, unfortunately, right—they can’t make a proper move until Tifa is awake, which means leaving Lottie behind with a brother that’s completely insane, and hoping that Rufus doesn’t schedule her execution prior to Tifa’s waking. 

The plan is simple enough, but Cid can’t help but think that things will likely go horribly wrong. Even the cat had admitted they might need to consider some back-up plans, but several of their companions have little to no knowledge about the layout of Junon’s Command Center, so planning is left primarily to Cait Sith, Vincent, and himself. 

In theory, the plan sounds _good_ , if not a little vague. Cait Sith had quickly discussed the fact that he had decided to recruit outside help in regards to Charlie (but wouldn’t tell them _who_ ), who will be Vincent’s responsibility. Cid and Nanaki will secure the _Highwind_ while Cait Sith rescues Tifa and Barret. Yuffie will be keeping watch incognito until she joins up with Cait Sith, Barret, and Tifa, and then she’ll give the signal to start the airship.

With a strong enough diversion, it’s entirely possible for them to be in and out within ten minutes, so long as Cid is ready by then to extract them.

“How’re we gonna know when Tifa wakes up anyway?” Yuffie asks them once. 

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Cait Sith had reassured her. “I’ll be informed the minute she’s awake, and then we’ll put our plan into action.”

“And if Charlie is scheduled to be executed before that?” Yuffie asks again. 

Cait Sith hesitates. “Then we’ll have to tweak our plans, is all.”

The first thing that needs to be assessed is the _Highwind_ itself. They need to know how quickly Cid will be able to reach the airship, how many pilots and engineers and guards might be lingering around it, how many men are inside during different times of the day. 

Cait Sith is able to get his hands on the airport’s floor plans, but given that the Shinra suit is back in Midgar, the cat is forced to draw a crude picture that’s actually not so horrible, but Cid doesn’t really like complimenting someone who still works for Shinra after all the shit they’ve been through. It’s enough to give Cid an idea of what to do, however, and he’s eager to depart that very minute.

The third night is when things are slowly put into action. 

They move under cover of darkness out of the small village, slipping into Under Junon during the wee hours of the night. Nanaki and Yuffie, quickly recognized by some of the locals, are able to secure them a place to plan and rest, a place to utilize as their “base” while they wait.

By morning, Cid and Vincent are prepared to infiltrate the command center for a recon mission.

To begin, they recruit a little girl named Priscilla, who talks for six consecutive minutes about Cloud. She’s eager for the job (if it helps Cloud, of course), and agrees to their plan. 

With two guards standing outside the elevator that leads to Upper Junon, they need to clear the way first. Hidden in between two shops, Cid can hear Priscilla shouting a short distance away, running towards the guards. 

“Help! Help! A monster!”

“A monster?” says one of the guards. “I don’t see a monster. Where?”

“This way, mister! Down there! I saw it! I saw it!” the girl shouts again, leading them both towards Cid and Vincent, who promptly put them down (out of sight from Priscilla, of course, not wanting to traumatize the poor girl).

The two of them quickly undress the guards, removing their uniforms and searching their pockets for keycards or money or anything else that might be useful. Stripped down to their boxers, Cid and Vincent drag the nearly-naked bodies a little ways away and dump them unceremoniously into the shallow graves that were dug a few hours ago, where Yuffie and Cait Sith are waiting to cover them up. Nanaki lies patiently in the shade, unable to hold a shovel. 

“Y’know, I feel kinda uncomfortable havin’ you do this,” Cait Sith says to Yuffie, just as they pick up the shovels. “Aren’t you like, fourteen or something?”

“I’m sixteen, and I grew up in war-torn Wutai. Don’t act like I’ve never seen a dead body before.” Yuffie groans as she throws some dirt into one of the graves. “What’re you? Like fifty-something?”

“I’m not _that_ old,” Cait Sith replies, and the two of them are still grumbling to each other as Cid and Vincent change into the freshly stolen Shinra uniforms. 

Yuffie looks up from her finished grave just as Cid takes his shirt off, keeping his undershirt on to keep a thin barrier between his skin and the guard’s sweaty uniform. “ _Okay_ ,” she teases, sticking her tongue out at him, “I see why Charlie likes you now.”

“Why? She say somethin’ to you?” Cid wriggles his eyebrows at her, putting the top half of his uniform on. 

“It’s not really what she _said_ ,” Yuffie shrugs. “But I catch her looking. She thinks she’s sneaky.” While she waits for Cait Sith to finish filling up the other grave, she wrestles with Nanaki, ignoring his weak protests and, all the while, needling Cid. “Did you kiss her, Cid?”

“I might’ve.”

“Yeah,” Yuffie laughs, wrapping her arm around Nanaki’s neck and holding him in place, rolling around in the dirt, “you seem like the kind of guy a rich girl like her pisses her dad off with.”

“How do you figure?” Nanaki asks, gasping for breath as Yuffie releases him. 

“Uh, ‘cause he’s exactly the type of guy that _I’d_ use to piss off my dad.”

Cid frowns, exchanging an amused look with Vincent, who pulls a helmet over his head. “Fuck off, Yuffie,” he sighs, pulling his own helmet on. “S’been a while since I wore one of these.” Laughing nervously, he slings the rifle over his shoulder. “How do we look?”

“Unrecognizable,” Nanaki answers. 

“Perfect. Just the look I was goin’ for.” Cid glances at Cait Sith as the second grave is filled. “What’cha think, Cait? Awfully quiet over there. Is it bad?”

“No, it’ll work fine. You should get going.”

Cid thinks the cat sounds a little annoyed, but doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. 

He and Vincent ride the elevator in silence. Cait Sith had given them a time limit of two hours. If they aren’t back in two hours, then it’s safe to assume something is wrong. If something is wrong, Cait Sith had given them a location to reach for an escape plan, but Cid’s confident that no one is going to realize anything is off while they’re wearing these itchy fucking uniforms. 

Upper Junon is very busy, preparing for the public execution of Avalanche’s top three members, but Cid doesn’t get a very good look at what’s going on. They avoid the main streets and keep to back alleys and side streets, heading straight towards the airport, where the _Highwind_ is kept. 

It’s rather empty here, but no one seems to think them out of place. In fact, they’re able to walk right up to the airship without any problems at all (in about seven minutes), which is good, because Cid is about to make a problem. 

With the inside of the _Highwind_ completely empty, Cid takes his helmet off upon reaching the bridge, pulling a screwdriver from his pocket and opening a panel below the monitors for the pilot controls, revealing a _shit ton_ of tangled wires that certainly weren’t there last time he was aboard the airship.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, hesitating as he tries to figure out which wire would be the safest to snip. He just needs to keep the airship grounded until they’re ready to save Charlie and the others, and he needs to do that by fucking something up that he’ll be able to fix quickly in order to steal it for himself. If he fucks up and cuts something _really_ important, they’re all fucked. “Goddamn . . . son of a . . . piece of . . .”

“Is something wrong?” Vincent asks, kneeling beside him. 

“Nothin’! I got it, all right?” Cid snaps back, very aware of Vincent hovering right over his left shoulder. “Just give me some fuckin’ space so I can do this right—shit—”

“What are you doing?” Vincent nearly elbows him out of the way, examining the wires sticking out.

“It looks a little different than I remember it—”

“Can you do it?”

Cid scoffs in his face, scowling. “Of course I can do it. I built this fuckin’ thing, you know. You just gotta . . . well, I should just . . . now, this one here . . . this one might . . .”

“If you’re uncertain, then we should return tomorrow with another plan.”

“I got it! Damn! Stop micromanagin’ me—”

“We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“I ain’t gonna make any mistakes! Leave me alone, Vince!”

“Um, excuse me?”

Cid jumps, remembering too late that he’s taken his helmet off. When he whirls around, it’s to find three men staring wide-eyed at him, unarmed and wearing engineer uniforms. “Just doin’ a little maintenance,” he lies quickly, flashing them an awkward smile and holding up the screwdriver in his hand. “And if you don’t mind, I work better when there ain’t no fuckin’ jackasses needlin’ me while I do it.”

“Wait a minute!” The man in the middle steps forward, fat and sweating, looking at Cid like he’s got a third fucking head. “C—Captain? Captain Cid? Is that you?”

Cid and Vincent look at each other quickly. His mouth hangs open as he stutters, unsure of how to respond. “Yee . . . esss?” 

“Captain Cid! It’s really you!” the engineer answers brightly. “Don’t you remember us? We helped you and Miss Shinra build the _Highwind!_ ” His expression suddenly changes very quickly to something more grim. “Real shame ‘bout Miss Shinra, isn’t it? Who would have thought she’d be involved with a terrorist cell—”

“Hey, hey, hey, watch it,” Cid growls, stepping forward despite Vincent’s warning hand on his shoulder, attempting to calm him. “I don’t think you know what the hell you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“What have you heard?” Vincent interrupts them before they can answer Cid. “Have they set a date for her execution yet?”

“If you ask me, there’s no point in an execution,” sighs another engineer. “We’re all gonna die once that giant meteor hits the planet anyway.”

“What kind of talk is that?” Cid scoffs, putting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. “You can’t just give up now! S’long as it stays in the sky, there’s gotta be hope!” He gives the base of the control panel a kick. “Damn. They’re really gonna execute her, huh?”

“That’s what Heidegger said, Captain, sir,” says the third engineer. “For treason, he said.”

“ _Treason!_ ” Cid lets out a ‘ha!’. “She’s been out tryin’ to save the world—not that _Heidegger_ would know anything ‘bout that! I dunno what kinda shit they’ve been fillin’ your head with, but Lottie ain’t a traitor. She’s a good kid and her heart’s in the right place, most of the time.”

He thinks of her, probably alone in a cell, probably thinking all of her friends abandoned her. The idea gets him fired up, the idea that some Shinra fucking suit might be spreading gossip throughout the ranks to make her look bad. 

“And she’s so goddamned smart,” he continues, looking around the bridge of the _Highwind_ , remembering days spent admiring her at work, “and she’s creative and insightful and determined, but she ain’t a traitor, and I—” Cid catches himself, flushing heatedly—“ _Fuck,_ I’m sayin’ a lot of words right now.”

The engineers are looking awkwardly at him. 

“Goddamn it, that’s why we gotta save her!” Cid shouts, throwing all pretense out the window. These are Charlie’s men. These are _his_ men. “And I need the _Highwind_ to do it so we can stop this fuckin’ meteor from killin’ us!”

Vincent inhales audibly. “Cid—!”

“You’re gonna save the vice president and the world?” the second engineer asks, furrowing his brows together. “And you need the _Highwind_ to do it?”

“Isn’t that what I just said? Do I need to repeat myself?” Cid hisses, trying his best to sound authoritative. 

“N—no, Captain!” the first man replies, straightening and saluting him. “In fact, I’d like to help, sir!”

The second man pauses. “Me too, Captain!”

The third man pauses for a little longer, blushing. “And me!”

Cid blinks stupidly at them, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Looking sideways at Vincent, he smiles. “Oh, this’ll be a hell of a lot easier than we thought.”

* * *

He doesn’t get back in time to have dinner with her that night. 

Charlie is fast asleep in bed, wearing one of his old t-shirts and nearly silent. Rufus knows that she’s still breathing. She’s always been a quiet sleeper. 

And then she inhales deep, her breath stuttering slightly, like she’s been crying. 

Rufus slips his shoes off, takes his suit jacket off (still speckled with some of Reeve’s blood), and sits down beside her without waking her. 

He’s not stupid. He knows that Charlie hates him. He knows that Charlie hates it here. He hears her crying in the bathroom at night when she thinks he’s asleep, and sometimes he can hear her sniffling into her pillow. 

Truthfully, Rufus hates it here, too. He can’t help but remember the months he had spent here with no one for company but a Turk (Tseng, more often than not) for one or two hours every day, always being watched through the cameras. 

He remembers nights spent alone in bed, aching for his own sister, touching himself and looking right into the cameras as he did so, daring them to intrude upon his private moment, deriving great pleasure from the fact that no one would ever know who it was he was fantasizing about. 

He brushes the backs of his fingers along her cheek, her skin smooth. She stirs at his touch, moaning softly before her eyes flutter open. When she looks at him, her eyes still glazed over with sleep, her expression is not one of contempt or hatred, allowing him to continue touching her face without the slightest protest. 

It hadn’t really been the flagrant lack of respect that made Rufus hit Reeve. That had been part of it, to be sure, but it was the idea that Reeve might be telling the truth that sent him into a frenzy. 

Does he really want to kill Charlie? No, not really. But she’s left him no other option, and with that fool Heidegger having announced to nearly all of Junon that Charlotte Shinra is going to be executed, Rufus knows that he can’t change his mind now. If he doesn’t follow through with his decision to punish her, he’ll never be respected again. 

Not that Heidegger respects him much, but he’s afraid of Rufus. It’s easy to control Heidegger when he thinks himself a single wrong word away from death. 

“Good-night,” he whispers, bending over to kiss her forehead. She falls back asleep almost immediately. Rufus covers her with another blanket and leaves the room, grateful that no one is watching him to bear witness to such humiliating weakness. 

Even knowing how close she is to death, Rufus still can’t find it in his heart to take her for himself. Every time he thinks he’s ready, he can’t help but think of their time together as children. They had looked after each other, had cared for each other, had provided each other with the love that Father would never give them. 

Charlie has given him so much, that he almost feels too greedy asking for anything more. He only wants her to feel loved these last few days, but she’s making it so difficult. 

He had tried to be kind already, tried asking about Tseng, knowing that she might want to get it off her chest. Instead, she had taken offense, claimed that Tseng had been a better brother to her, and it had sent him into a burning rage. 

Yet even as he had dragged Charlie to the floor by the hair, striking her across the face as his heart imploded, she had been screaming at him, red in the face and sobbing. 

“You left him behind!” She had fought him the entire time, kicking her legs and trying to claw at his face, one of her nails catching his cheek. “You just left him there! He was your _friend!_ He _loved_ us!”

Rufus stands in the doorway for a minute, watching her sleep. He pushes his hair back out of his eyes. 

He thought Cloud might come back for her and her friends. He thought the others might have made a move, had even expected Reeve to rally troops still loyal to Char, but it’s been four days and Cloud is still missing, and Meteor is in the sky, and it’s highly likely that they’ll all be dead in a few days, if not killed by Weapon first. 

He takes a private car back to the apartment where Charlie had stayed with him for the inauguration parade. All night he hears her voice, echoing inside his head, over and over and over again.

_. . . just like Father . . . just like Father . . . just like Father . . . just like Father . . ._

* * *

Tseng laughs dryly. 

Reeve lifts his eyes from the blueprints he has spread out on the table, scowling. “Is something funny?”

With a long index finger, Tseng points to the luxury cell that houses Charlotte. “It’s the same cell her brother was kept in during the first part of his house arrest,” he explains. “Cameras in each room, save for the bathroom. There’s a lock on the outside that’s operated by keycard.”

“Who has a keycard to the room?”

“Very probably the president.”

“But if we cut the power, we might still have a few seconds before the generators kick in,” Reeve says, and Veld nods slowly, looking down at the blueprints and scratching at the rough beard growing in on his face. “We could get her out that way, under cover of darkness.”

“ _Seconds_ , Director,” Tseng repeats, narrowing his eyes. “It’s impossible. The door locks from the inside, and it’s unlikely she’ll move quickly enough to escape before it locks you both inside. And if you do get her out, do you plan on parading her down the main street of Junon? Not that you’ll make it that far. Everyone in the command center will recognize her immediately.”

“I’m sorry if my plan isn’t good enough for you. I’m juggling quite a bit at the moment, but if you have a better idea, then go on,” Reeve snaps, noticing Tseng’s eyes lingering on his broken nose and bruised face.

“Of course I have a better idea.” Tseng smiles smugly, fingertips lightly touching the place where his scar is underneath his shirt. 

Reeve feels sorry for asking him for help, knowing that the wound must still hurt, but Tseng has clearly been getting frustrated being cooped up in a hospital with nothing to do. He’s eager to return to work, which is impossible for the moment, as everyone still thinks him dead. 

“There’s a code to override the lock, in case of emergencies,” he continues, giving his shoulders a slight shrug. 

“And who would have the access code?” Reeve asks again, growing impatient.

“The Turk who spent a few solid months coming and going from that place,” Veld answers for Tseng, probably to keep tempers from running too high. “Or even the Turks’ leader.”

“That’s fantastic news. What’s the code?”

“No,” Tseng says, shaking his head. “I’ll handle that myself. What happens when you get her out of the cell?”

Reeve hesitates, unsure of what the both of them might think about this next part. There is no one else he can trust more than the two Turks standing in front of him, and that in itself is a terrifying thought. “Avalanche is going to steal the _Highwind,_ and Charlie will be on it when it leaves Junon. The crew is still very loyal to her and Cid, and they’ve agreed to help us. There’s going to be a minor mutiny the day of the execution. They’re all just waiting for the signal.”

Tseng is quiet for a moment, bracing himself upon the table, looking down at the blueprints. He waits for the sound of conversation to pass by the other side of the door before answering. “When?”

“When Tifa wakes up. Rude has someone watching the cameras. He’s going to notify me the moment she’s awake. That’s when the execution is planned for.”

Veld seems nervous. Reeve supposes it’s the idea of Charlotte’s public execution that makes him uneasy. “We’ll need uniforms to get in.”

“I can get uniforms.”

“Where are we supposed to meet Vincent?”

“Here.” Reeve points to another room on the paper. “He’s going to block off this corridor here, have her change into a uniform, and then they can escape the back way without encountering much trouble. An engineer is going to have a car waiting out back to take them directly to the airport.”

Veld looks at him steadily for a long time, as if expecting more. He sighs. “You realize the chances of this being successful are slim to none, son?”

He won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t thought about it. “I know, but we have to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @dumb_apple_


	59. Chapter 59

On the sixth day, Charlie gives up hope. 

She comes to terms with the fact that her “friends” aren’t coming for her rather quickly, opening the liquor cabinet at nine o’clock in the morning (the passcode is her birthday, just like the liquor cabinet at the villa) and hoping to drink herself to death.

Why would they come for her? They would only be wasting their time and possibly their lives trying to save her, and it’s not like she’s necessary to their team to defeat Sephiroth. She’s still just another Shinra to them, and dispensable. She isn’t worth the trouble, and though she thought a Turk may have come for her by now, if only to talk, Charlie begins to suspect she can’t rely on them either. 

The difficult part is making her peace. 

There are so many people that she’s wronged, people that she still needs to apologize to. She wants to tell Reeve everything she’s been hiding from him, and she wants to apologize to Cid for destroying his dream, and she wants to apologize to Barret and Tifa for the plate drop, and for the bombings, and for everything Shinra has ever done to hurt them and the people they loved. 

She wants to apologize to Vincent and Nanaki for the actions of Professor Hojo.

She wants to apologize to Yuffie for the destruction of her homeland during the war. 

She wants to apologize to Cloud, for keeping her suspicions close to her heart, for not being open and honest with him. She should have told him the truth the moment Reeve came back empty-handed from searching through the SOLDIER files. She should have told him the moment he couldn’t recall where he had gotten his sword from. 

When Rufus comes into the cell for dinner, he is a different person. For the last few nights, he’s been soft and kind, fussing over the scar on her neck, overly-courteous and gentle with her. He is so easy to give in to, especially when Charlie knows that she’s going to die in a few days.

That night, half-drunk and wondering if this is the last night she’ll ever have, Charlie allows him certain liberties that she’s been denying him the past few days, trying to find the same comfort in his actions that she did when she was younger. He strips her down to her underwear, placing tender kissing from her clavicle to her breasts, over her underwear and on the insides of her thighs, putting her on display for the cameras. 

_My only remaining friend,_ she thinks, running her fingers through Rufus’s hair as he looks up, resting his chin on her stomach. _He did the best he could with me. He loved me._

Rufus moves up the bed, holding himself above her. Charlie touches his straining triceps, hard beneath her fingertips. It’s been a long time since she’s seen her brother shirtless, but it’s a pleasant sight. His skin is pale as snow, his shoulders freckled, narrow hips and a taut stomach. 

“You’re so beautiful, Charlotte,” he breathes, kissing the tip of her nose and shattering her heart. “I love you.”

_Is this how he says good-bye? Am I going to die tomorrow?_

“I love you, too,” she whispers, too mentally and emotionally exhausted to feel any shame. It won’t matter come tomorrow. Beginning tomorrow, she won’t ever feel any shame ever again. 

Rufus sits back on his heels, taking her right hand with his left and lacing their fingers together. He kisses her knuckles, sending a chill down her spine as she’s reminded of the Temple of the Ancients, of Tseng’s lips against her skin, one last good-bye before sending her on her way. 

“Say it again,” he pleads, slipping two fingers down the front of her underwear.

“I love you,” she says again, “I love— _oh_ . . .”

It’s been a long time since she’s felt this way with Rufus. It’s been a long time since she’s felt such love in each of his touches, pulling noises and words from her that are mostly incoherent and breathy.

And afterwards, she can’t help but cry, wrapping her arms around her brother’s neck and sobbing into his skin. “Please, Rufus,” she begs, clinging to him, “I’m your sister. I love you. You know that I do. Don’t you love me?”

But she knows that Rufus will not relent. If he does not kill her now and follow through on his promise, then he will lose the respect of the other executives (except for Reeve, who surely won’t advocate for her death, despite everything). 

He holds her, though, and Charlie cries throughout the night, wondering what she could have done to prevent all of this, a crushing amount of guilt weighing heavily on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. 

Maybe tomorrow, Rufus will give her something to write with, just to write some letters to leave behind . . . just to let her friends know that she never betrayed them, that she wishes them the best of luck, that she doesn’t regret the time spent with them . . . that she would never blame them for what happened to her . . .

The seventh day, Weapon attacks. 

* * *

Tifa wakes the seventh day, and the news makes Rufus physically ill because he knows what he must do. 

When Heidegger asks eagerly after the details surrounding Charlie’s execution, Rufus decides to try and prolong it for as long as possible. He doesn’t quite know what he expects to happen, but he isn’t ready to bear witness to his sister’s death. 

Tifa and Barret will be executed first, and that task is delegated to Scarlet, who has flown in for the very special event. Rufus can’t help but notice that Reeve has decided to remain in Midgar, but he doesn’t mind. The brute may do something stupid to stop the execution if he’s here in Junon, and that’s the very last thing he wants. 

The Avalanche members are to be gassed, which will be painful, surely. A slow and suffocating death . . . is that what he wants to subject Charlie to? He had mulled over all the available options: a hanging (too exploitative), a firing squad (too impersonal), electric chair (too painful), injection (too experimental). 

He _could_ just let her live, at the cost of his empire. 

_Gods, what have I done?_

And all the while, he hears her voice. 

_Just like Father . . . just like Father . . . just like Father . . ._

* * *

Reeve takes the entire day off, hiding away in his apartment to focus on one thing and one thing only—saving Charlie and her (no, _their_ ) friends. After Rude had called to let him know Tifa was awake, everyone had departed Under Junon within ten minutes of that news. 

Having successfully infiltrated Junon’s Command Center, and with everyone in position, Cait Sith is able to sneak into the broadcasting room with the rest of the press, dressed in some ridiculous outfit to hide the fact that he’s not even a human. As long as the cat keeps his head down, he should be fine. Yuffie had told him the disguise would work, but Reeve doesn’t think he should have believed her.

Several rows of chairs have been set up in the broadcasting room, filled with cameramen and news reporters waiting for Barret and Tifa to walk in. Cait Sith sits down in the front row, and Reeve is forced to wait and wait and wait and wait . . . time ticking away slowly until the door is finally opened, and the cameras are readied. 

Scarlet leads Tifa and Barret through the door, their hands tied behind their backs. While Barret looks healthy as ever (and rather defiant), Tifa doesn’t look well, her skin waxy and pale, red eyes sunken. She doesn’t even seem to have any fight in her, having just woken up after a week, taken from her hospital room at her most vulnerable. 

The three of them stop at the front of the room, and Scarlet allows herself to be surrounded by microphones before smiling directly into the cameras, looking very pleased with herself. 

“Now that everyone’s here, we can begin.” Scarlet clears her throat, tucking some of her hair behind her ear and gesturing towards Barret and Tifa. “These are the ones who brought this madness into the world! The ones that brainwashed the vice president, that tore Midgar apart with their careless acts of violence!”

“We didn’t brainwash the vice president!” Barret protests, shouting so all the world will be able to hear him. “Your vice president was the only Shinra out there fightin’ for the people!”

Scarlet scowls at him. “Let’s begin with the girl, shall we?”

Reeve tries to think quickly. There are far more people here than he thought there would be, but no one seems to notice anything is off. If need be, he could corner Scarlet once she leaves the room, hopefully find a key on her person to the gas chamber she’s walking Tifa into, ignoring Barret’s loud protests. 

When Scarlet walks back out of the gas chamber, he gets his chance, but it’s a rather unlucky one. 

Everyone jumps collectively as a shrill alarm rents the air, piercing Reeve’s ears through the monitor and his head. He holds his face in his hands a moment, listening to the announcement that comes through both the speakers and his brain, painfully. 

“ _Emergency! Emergency! Weapon’s approaching! All military personnel: take your positions!_ ”

The alarm continues to cut through all other noise, but is drowned out rather quickly when everyone begins to scream, shouting at each other and dropping their gear to save their lives first. Even the guards that are at Barret’s back slowly back away, escaping before Scarlet has time to scold or catch them. 

“Weapon’s coming!”

“Hurry!”

“ _Run!_ ”

Scarlet calls after them all as they empty the room, fleeing an inevitable attack. Reeve finds himself panicking, the feeling of impending doom weighing on his shoulders. It’s a perfect distraction, but a dangerous one, and one they hadn’t planned for at all. 

“Okay, Cait,” Reeve breathes, dragging a hand down his face, “we have one shot at this.”

_I got it, I got it!_

He can hardly watch, his heart leaping in his throat as Cait Sith approaches Scarlet, speaking of his own accord, as Reeve doesn’t think he has the ability to even find his voice as of right now. All he can think of is Charlie, and if Tseng and Veld and Vincent have done their part, if they’ve saved her already. 

“How does it feel now, Scarlet?”

Scarlet grits her teeth, clearly frustrated. Reeve has known her long enough to be able to see it written all over her face. “Here until the end, are you? I admit, I’m impressed.” She puts her hands on her hips and sighs. “Right now, it feels . . . it feels . . .” She blinks a few times, and Reeve knows that the cat’s done it, privately celebrating this small victory. “It . . . feels . . .”

Before she can finish her thought, she collapses to the ground, groaning. 

“Sleeping gas?” Barret scoffs, looking wide-eyed at Cait Sith. 

Without answering, Cait Sith rids himself of the ridiculous disguise, slightly amused at the look of complete bewilderment on Barret’s face. “Turn around and I’ll get those cuffs off. Don’t worry, I’m here to help!”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” Barret asks, turning and letting the cat free him. He rolls his shoulders a few times, breathing very heavily. “Ain’t you part of Shinra?”

“You didn’t actually think we’d leave you here, did you? Now, let’s get Tifa and get outta here!”

“Hold on a damn minute!” Barret says quickly, holding out a hand as Cait Sith moves towards the gas chamber. “What about Charlie? We’re bustin’ her out, too, ain’t we?”

“Don’t worry about Charlie. She’s being taken care of. Now come on! We gotta help Tifa!”

* * *

The sea rages. 

“Your orders, sir?”

Heidegger sounds panicked, which is unlike him. There had been a few close calls over the past week with Weapon sailing closer to Junon than he’d like, but always retreating at the last moment, as if scoping them out, preparing for an attack. 

“The cannon,” Rufus answers, looking out the wide windows of the control room. He can’t abandon his post to relocate Charlie somewhere safe, so he can only hope the cell holds. It should be safe enough for her to wait out the storm. “Use the cannon.”

Heidegger nods curtly, turning towards the men and women seated at the controls. “Open the cannon doors and activate the cannon!”

“Lock down the city, and bring out the small artillery,” Rufus says again, and his order is followed by an anonymous, “Yes, sir!”

It takes a few minutes, as the cannon is slow to move. What it lacks in speed, Rufus knows it makes up for that lack of speed with power, but he still isn’t certain it’s enough to destroy Weapon. 

“Preparations are complete, sir!” 

Heidegger doesn’t hesitate. “Fire!”

The cannon discharges, sending a resounding _boom!_ throughout Junon. It rattles the windows and shakes the command center, making the floor tremble beneath his feet. The shot speeds across the surface of the sea until it’s out of sight, and all is calm again, the alarm shutting off as all seems well. 

Rufus holds his breath, waiting. “Did we hit it?”

Heidegger doesn’t get a chance to answer. The alarms begin to ring again, screaming of Weapon’s approach.

“It’s heading right towards Junon!” one man shouts, standing at his desk. “Speed, fifty knots!”

“But we hit it dead on!” Heidegger scoffs, stepping up to Rufus’s side and looking out the window. Weapon is nowhere in sight, but there’s a disturbance within the water, as if it’s going to breach the surface any moment now. 

“Use regular firepower until the cannon reloads!” Rufus can feel his throat constricting, his chest tightening. Here is where he makes his stand, with his sister in a cell and Heidegger relaying orders in his ear. “We can’t let Weapon reach the city!”

_We can’t let Weapon reach my sister._

* * *

“ _Emergency! Emergency! Weapon’s approaching!_ ”

“Damn,” Tseng breathes, as alarms spring to life, flashing bright red down the steel hallway.

The uniform is restricting, and presses very uncomfortably against the swollen scar across his stomach. 

It’s the first time he’s left the hospital room since being brought there from the Temple of the Ancients. He thought he might feel happier about it, but given the anxiety that comes with the possibility of not being able to save Charlotte from her cruel and untimely fate, as well as the anxiety of working alongside his old superior, Tseng can’t say he’s thrilled with his first mission back from the dead. 

This is the last thing he needs. 

The president must have had the cannon fired, because the entire building seems to shake for a moment, throwing him and Veld off balance as they make their way down the empty hallway towards Charlotte’s cell and the control room where he’ll be able to disarm the lock. 

Within a few short minutes after the rattling of the cannon, the building is filled with the sound of the smaller artillery units firing constantly from just outside. It’s nerve-wracking, not being able to see what’s going on outside, only able to take cues from the alarms that continue to warn them of Weapon’s quickening approach. 

Whatever guards that must have been standing outside of Charlotte’s cell have gone, likely assisting their fellows against Weapon. Tseng is thankful for that much, at least.

“I’ll wait here,” Veld tells him, helmet pulled low over his face. He takes up position outside the door, and Tseng continues down the hallway. 

He would run, if it didn’t hurt so badly. He regrets that he isn’t able to run, in fact, because before he can make it to the control room, something seems to slam against the command center, throwing Tseng to the floor with a cry of pain as he lands on his stomach. 

The building shakes violently, and he hears a faint crashing that comes from within the control room. Pushing himself to his feet and breathing very raggedly, Tseng continues, looking down to find blood seeping through his uniform, warm liquid dripping down his front and sticking to his skin. 

He throws the door open to be met with a horrible sight. A few steel beams from the ceiling must have fallen during the impact, impeding his way to the control panel, which has taken a terrible hit. The monitors that should show the inside of Charlotte’s cell are all blank, and Tseng swears loudly, his head swimming with pain. 

“No,” he rasps, trying to push the steel beams away, “no, no, no, no . . .” It’s no use. They aren’t going to budge, not even with Veld’s help. 

In fear of not making it in time, he forces himself to sprint back to Veld, at a loss. The only way to enter the cell now would be with a keycard, which would only be on the president’s person, given that the president trusts no one with his own sister. 

But Veld isn’t alone. His helmet is off, and there’s another man standing with him, with long and dark hair, dressed in a uniform that matches their own. “Is the door open?” Veld asks quickly at the sight of Tseng returning so quickly. 

“No, the control panel was damaged,” he answers through gritted teeth. “We need the keycard.”

“Sure. You wanna just walk right up to the president and ask him?” Veld tries to force the door open, pushing and pulling and kicking. “Damn! We have to get her out of there!”

“Stand back,” says the other man, positioning himself in front of the door. “I can get it open.”

* * *

Something causes the entire cell to shake beneath her feet. She throws her shoulder against the door, hoping it will open. Even Dark Nation puts his front paws up on the door, taller than her on his hind legs, barking loudly alongside her cries for help. 

The flashing alarm has cast most of her cell into shadow, coloring everything red. 

After a while, she stops. No one is coming for her. No one will even remember she’s here while Weapon is approaching. Stopping Weapon is the priority. Saving her is not. 

“Come on, D,” she urges, patting her thigh as she moves away from the door. “We’ll find another way out.”

Dark Nation whimpers pathetically, probably coming to the same realization that Charlie just has. Leave it to Rufus to leave behind the only two things that may still love him. 

She throws herself against every inch of wall, hoping that one of them will break away to reveal a secret bunker or a secret underground tunnel or a secret escape path. But she finds none of those things, and after going around the entire cell, her shoulder is aching terribly and she knows that she’s trapped. 

Rufus’s pup is beginning to panic, running in circles, restless. When Charlie puts a hand atop his head to calm him, he growls at her, but doesn’t bite. She doesn’t fear receiving a bite from Dark Nation, but she wouldn’t blame him for it if he did. 

She looks around for anything she may have missed before. She looks for a phone, a computer, some way to communicate to _someone_ that she’s still in here and needs a rescue. If someone was watching the cameras, certainly something would have happened by now. Either no one is watching her anymore, or whoever it is doesn’t care about her and her desire to save herself. 

There’s another jolt of force, and this one throws her to the ground. She lands hard on her hands and knees, and there’s a _boom!_ that sounds too close for comfort. A few glasses fall off the counter, shattering upon contact with the ground, and the half-empty bottle of wine she had drank last night rolls right off the table, landing with a _clunk!_ on the carpet beneath the dining table. 

Without any other ideas, Charlie and Dark Nation hide themselves in the bathroom, staring at the door. She sits with her back against the wall, facing the closed door and holding the trembling pup as the building continues to shake. 

At least she isn’t alone. At least, when Weapon destroys Junon, she and Dark Nation will die together. 

* * *

“Cid! It’s Yuffie!”

Cid looks out the bridge windows of the _Highwind_ , following Nanaki’s line of sine. A short distance away from the airport, close to the cannon, something that looks like a flare shoots up into the sky. 

“Okay, let’s get this airship started,” he says, relaying a few commands to the engineers who have taken over his ship. “Vince and Lottie should’a been here by now.”

“They’ve probably been slowed down with Weapon’s attack,” Nanaki reassures him. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” 

The _Highwind_ begins to power up, and Cid can’t say he’s not excited. The floor begins to tremble as the controls light up on all the panels, monitors flickering to life. Despite the tremendous accomplishment of stealing the _Highwind_ , Cid feels his stomach twisting and turning, unable to think of anything other than Charlie. 

“We’re not leavin’ without her,” Cid tells Nanaki, catching sight of three people riding the elevator towards the airship, all of them very familiar, Yuffie still in her dumbass press disguise. “We gotta wait for her and Vince.”

“We will.”

* * *

Something is slamming against the door to her cell. Something hard, something not human. It can’t be human, because no human could possibly be hitting it with such force. It even makes Dark Nation anxious, who nuzzles against her side in the bathroom and continues to bark threateningly, curling around her in a protective way. 

Charlie closes her eyes when she hears the door break. That door is solid steel, and that makes her more nervous. She’s eager for an escape, but not at the cost of running into a monster face-to-face. 

But there are footsteps coming closer, echoing against the hard floor of her cell, and there’s more than one person, it seems, moving into the bedroom . . . moving towards the bathroom . . . 

Her breath hitches as the doorknob to the bathroom turns, and Dark Nation growls. 

The door opens to reveal an infantryman to her, the front of his uniform stained slightly with fresh blood. Still unsure as to how he might have made those noises, Charlie pushes it to the back of her mind. To her surprise, Dark Nation doesn’t launch himself violently at the guard, but instead sniffs at the guard’s exposed hand, giving it a lick and nuzzling into his palm. 

It makes sense when he takes his helmet off, giving his dark hair a shake and letting it tumble down his back, damp with sweat and knotted at the ends. With the helmet tucked under his left arm, pressed against the side of his body, a very pale and sweaty-faced Tseng extends his right hand for her. 

For a moment, she just stares at him, her chest heaving and her brain completely short circuiting. 

“Am I . . .” It’s the only plausible explanation. His hand remains in front of her, waiting for her to take it. “. . . dead?”

Tseng shakes his head. Her eyes flick to the pool of blood spreading on the front of his uniform. “Don’t worry,” he says quickly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Charlie reaches out to take his hand, half-afraid that he’ll disappear the moment she expects to feel his skin against her own. This is impossible. Tseng had died at the Temple of the Ancients. But when she puts her hand in his, his palm is clammy and his skin is warm and she squeezes tight just to make sure that he isn’t about to disappear before her eyes. 

Tseng pulls her to her feet. She knows that they need to hurry if she means to escape, but she can’t help it. Charlie knows that this can’t be real . . . he can’t really be standing right there . . . he can’t really be alive . . . he can’t have survived . . .

Charlie reaches up with her hand, finding that she can’t breath. She touches the ends of his hair, the scratchy skin of his cheek, shaking her head. “Is it really you, Tseng?” she breathes. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, it’s really me,” he answers with a small smile. “Reeve saved my life. He had me brought to a hospital here, in Junon, and claimed I had been killed-in-action.”

Her eyes burn with tears. “Reeve . . . saved you?”

Tseng nods, opening his mouth to speak, but Charlie doesn’t give him the chance to. She wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder, so overwhelmed with emotion that she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Once the cell begins to tremble again, they pull away from each other, glancing around as the alarm begins to flash once more. 

“Come on. Let’s go.” He glances down at the mutated dog, sighing and adding, “And you, Dark Nation.”

Leading her out of the bathroom by the hand, Charlie finds two others waiting by the cell door with her. One of them is Vincent, but not _Vincent_ , rather his “other form”. That explains the inhuman strength it must have taken to knock the door completely off the wall, which lays by the table, caved in slightly. 

The other is a man in another uniform, his helmet pulled down over his face. 

“You came for me,” she says to Vincent, her heart swelling. 

“Of course,” he replies in a rasping voice.

She lets out a half-sob. How could she possibly think they would leave her behind?

“Well, well, well, isn’t this cute.” 

Charlie freezes, clinging to Tseng’s hand as she focuses her gaze on the third man, still a stranger to her. But he can’t be a stranger because she _knows_ that voice, knows that voice better than anyone’s. 

He takes his helmet off, revealing a mess of graying hair that was once a soft brown color, and there’s a rough beard growing on his cheeks and chin, uneven and patchy. Something seems to have softened him in the last few years. He looks tired, more so than she remembers, and far less intense. The lines at the corners of his eyes are more pronounced, but when he smiles at her, those lines are hardly noticeable, even endearing. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you, little princess.”

She feels faint. Perhaps she looks it, too, because Tseng slips an arm around her waist as her knees give out, catching her before she can crumple to the floor. “Veld? What are you doing here?”

“Remember my name, do you?” he chuckles. “I’ll explain later.”

“We need to go,” Vincent reminds them, nodding towards the opening in the wall. “There should be a car waiting to take us to the _Highwind._ ”

“My ship?” she breathes, unable to keep up.

“Cid wouldn’t see it that way, but yes.”

They encounter no trouble on their way to the back exit. Pipes are beginning to burst with the force of Weapon’s attack, and just when they think they’re in the clear, something explodes from behind them, sending Charlie tumbling forward, her hand slipping from Tseng’s. 

As Vincent helps Veld to his feet again, Charlie rolls Tseng onto his back, looking down at his torso. The front of his uniform is soaked in blood again, and she panics, trying not to think about the way he had looked at the Temple of the Ancients, suddenly paralyzed with fear. 

Tseng closes his eyes and clenches his jaw as Dark Nation licks at the stain. She has to do _something._ She refuses to leave him behind again.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” she says shakily, looping one of his arms around her neck and pulling him into a standing position, one arm around his middle and her free hand clutching his. 

“Let me help.” When Veld slings Tseng’s other arm around his broad shoulders in order to help, Charlie feels like she could cry. 

Vincent continues to clear a path for them, pushing aside fallen beams and burst pipes with ease. The three of them follow the red of his cloak as quickly as they can, Dark Nation’s breath hot on the backs of her legs. When the back door is opened (forced open by Vincent’s super-strength, as the keypad has been damaged in the attack), they’re greeted with a brutal scene. 

The car that meant to take Charlie to the airship is burning savagely, the flames reaching high into the sky. There’s a driver hanging halfway out of the driver’s seat, clearly dead. The ground has begun to crack and split with the tremors and the streets are filled with guards running back and forth, the apartment buildings closed up to protect them from another attack. 

“Where’s Rufus?” Charlie asks, knowing that none of the men she’s with will have an answer for her, not bothering to ask again when she doesn’t receive an answer at all. “How are we going to get to the airport now? Will we make it if we walk?”

“No. We’re going to fly.”

“What?”

Vincent spreads the wide wings on his back, and Charlie finds that she isn’t as afraid of him this time. It’s still him, and it’s the only available option that will get them there quickly. 

“Go on, Charlotte,” Veld urges her, giving her a reassuring nod. “We’ll be fine here.”

Tseng pulls his arm away from her shoulders, detaching himself from Veld and Charlie in order to lean against the outer wall of the command center, propping himself up. She’s distracted by the feeling of strong arms wrapping around her, one of them metal, holding her close. 

Charlie closes her eyes, allowing herself this little moment, savoring it, appreciating that it’s not a dream. One of Veld’s hands cradles the back of her head. “Thank you,” she whispers. 

“Hey.” He holds her out at arm’s length for a moment before placing a hand on either side of her face. “Tseng and Reeve told me everything.” He smiles sweetly, a smile she hasn’t seen in a long time. “We are so proud of you. And I know your mother would be damn proud of you, too.”

She smiles back at him, accepting the warm kiss he presses to her forehead. It is happiness she has not felt for a long time, not since he disappeared without a word. As Charlie pulls away, she looks past him at Tseng, who has been watching the entire time, hunched over against the wall. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he gets the help he needs. Us Turks have to look after each other.”

She has to believe him, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t frightened, especially after what happened at the Temple of the Ancients. It’s hard to forget what happened there, especially when she dreams of it so often. Just in case, however, she steps up to Tseng as Vincent waits for her to finish saying her tearful good-byes, all while the city burns around them. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he rasps, holding out his hand. Charlie takes it in her own, squeezing, wishing there was something she could do to help him, wishing she could take them both with her. 

She’s just so happy they’re alive, that they’re together, that she gets to see them again, even if it’s the last time. She’s already said her good-byes to Tseng once, and she isn’t ready to do it again, and perhaps he understands that, and understands her hesitation.

“Okay,” she says. 

Tseng releases her hand and Charlie takes a few careful steps backwards before turning completely, running to Vincent’s side. Dark Nation follows, as if expecting to go with them. She kneels down in front of Rufus’s dog, hoping that her brother will escape with his life, hoping that she doesn’t have to hear the news that he was another casualty of Weapon’s. 

“Stay with them,” she tells the dog, his hard face nuzzling against her own, his tongue dragging warm saliva across her cheek. In any other circumstances, she would protest and push him away, but this is not an ordinary farewell. “They’ll take care of you until Rufus comes back for you.”

“Ready?” Vincent asks. 

“Just a second,” she begs, half of a mind to stay behind with Veld and Tseng, with her family. 

“Charlotte,” Veld tells her, loading Tseng back up, draping his arm around his shoulders again, preparing to escape themselves. “Go. We’ll be okay here, little princess.”

Charlie pauses, looking at Tseng for some kind of confirmation. Is that what they want? They want her gone? They want her to leave? _They want me to be safe. They want me to be away from Rufus._

“Go,” Tseng croaks, and this time, Charlie will not disobey him.

Vincent lifts her like his new bride, and Charlie wraps her arms around his neck to keep herself steady, never looking away from Veld and Tseng, even as Vincent’s wings carry them above the command center, oblivious to the world around her, oblivious to the monster seeking to destroy the city. No one even notices them, too busy trying to stop another attack from occurring. 

And just like that, they’re gone. 

It’s only when they’re out of sight that Charlie feels safe enough to cry, exhausted from having to be strong when all she wanted to do was collapse into Veld’s arms for the rest of eternity, to be loved again, truly loved. 

“He calls you ‘little princess’,” Vincent remarks as they make for the hovering _Highwind_ , still at the airport, but prepared to take flight any minute now. 

Charlie laughs humorlessly, a short little exhale. “Yes,” she answers, “he does.”

* * *

There’s another resounding _boom!_ that shakes the _Highwind._

Cid pushes himself up against the engineer working the flight controls, waiting for the go-ahead, and presses a button to ask Yuffie, aboard the deck, “What the fuck was that?”

Yuffie’s voice comes back to him, sounding very far away and weighed down by static. “ _The cannon hit Weapon! It’s down!_ ”

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Barret shouts, looking towards the command center. “We gotta go save Tifa! We’ve wasted too much time!”

“Lottie and Vince ain’t back yet!” Cid protests, knowing damn well that they’ve been waiting too long. Something is terribly wrong, but he can’t wait around for her forever. It’s likely that they were caught up in an explosion, or maybe Charlie decided to stay behind with her brother. 

“ _Hey guys!_ ” Yuffie’s voice calls to them again. “ _Think you might wanna come out here and see this!_ ”

Barret whirls around to face Cid, taking off towards the deck. Cid follows him, instructing the pilot to take off in two minutes, no matter what. He feels guilty about it, but he knows that Charlie would be angry with him if Tifa died because he couldn’t be bothered to get to her in time. Cid would prefer neither of them die, and hates that this decision has been forced on him, especially when his own wants and desires misalign with the rest of his friends’. 

Surely they would save Tifa over Charlie. 

The moment Cid and Barret join Yuffie, Cait Sith, and Nanaki on the deck, Yuffie points up to the evening sky, tinged red and gray by the fires that rage within the command center and the city streets. 

Cid sees what she’s pointing at. At first, so far away, it looks like the shadow of an over-sized bat, flapping its wings towards the _Highwind_. As it gets nearer and nearer, he sees that the over-sized bat seems to be holding something in his arms—no, not some _thing_ , but some _one_ , someone with light blonde hair and pale skin. 

And the thing carrying her, it isn’t an over-sized bat at all. It’s very recognizably Vincent, but twisted and deformed and fucking _monstrous_ , but the color of that red bandanna is unmistakable, and pieces of the Shinra uniform he had been wearing sticks to him like it’s his very skin. 

He touches down very lightly and gracefully upon the deck, ignoring everyone’s wide-eyed looks as he sets Charlie down and changes back into himself with a few grunts, a flash of light, and the crunching of bones as they reset themselves, his wings forcing their way into his back again. 

It’s a gruesome sight, but Cid can’t pay much attention to it now. All he cares about is Charlie, and the fact that she looks absolutely fine, and that her eyes are alight with something that reminds him of the days spent at base camp, tending to the Shinra No. 26. 

They start towards each other, but Charlie’s progress towards him is impeded by Yuffie, who flings herself at Charlie in a way that’s completely unexpected. If Charlie is annoyed by this, she doesn’t show it, instead smiling as Yuffie wraps her thin arms around the vice president of Shinra’s neck, lifting her legs off the ground as Charlie hugs her back. 

“You made it!” Yuffie shrieks. 

“Yeah,” Charlie breathes, a smile on her face. It looks as if she’s been crying, but it’s hard to tell because she looks so fucking happy. When Yuffie finally lets go, the moment is gone. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“Well . . . it was all Cait Sith’s idea, really,” Cid tells her grudgingly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just went along with it.”

Charlie turns to face the cat, who approaches slowly, jumping down from his moogle. “Cait Sith?”

“It was nothin’,” Cait Sith replies, kicking distractedly at the ground with one of his over-sized shoes. “Couldn’t leave you behind.”

She sinks to her knees, putting her hands on the cat’s shoulders, eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you,” she breathes, smiling through her tears. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

Cid grumbles to himself, feeling a little left out, but Vincent gives him an elbow to the stomach to shut him up. 

“You’re not mad?”

Cid doesn’t think they’re talking about the rescue mission anymore, but doesn’t know how else they may have been communicating. As far as he was concerned, Charlie was closed off from the whole damn world.

“No,” she laughs, giving her head a shake, still crying beautiful fucking tears. “I’m happy. I’m . . .” Charlie bursts into laughter, laughter that sounds more like heavy sobs than anything, but she’s still smiling, and there’s nothing else to indicate that she feels anything but pure bliss. “I am _so_ happy.”

She wraps her arms around the toy cat, and the both of them hold each other for a moment. Cid can’t help but feel a churning in his stomach, jealous of whatever stupid fucking son of a bitch is on the receiving end of her hug, wondering if he feels that winning Charlie’s favor is a victory for a poor Shinra sucker like himself. 

Cid clears his throat as the _Highwind_ begins to take off, just like he had told the pilot. It’s good to know he’s got a crew that can listen to and follow orders. Charlie and Cait Sith break away from each other, looking around as the airship rises off the ground. 

“Sorry ‘bout this, honey,” Cid tells her, glancing over the railing and grinning wildly. _Finally, it’s mine again!_ “Hope you’re not too pissed off at me for stealin’ your airship.”

She smiles brilliantly at him, knocking the wind out of him. “It _does_ have your name on it, I suppose.”

* * *

“Mr. President, sir!”

Rufus is halfway down to his sister’s cell when he gets the news from a guard that sprints up to him. The hallways are in bad shape, and with the steam spilling from bent and broken pipes, it makes the air thick and sticky. “What is it?”

“It’s the vice president, sir! She’s gone!”

He blinks stupidly, unable to process this little bit of information. “What do you mean she’s _gone?_ ”

“It looks like she’s escaped, sir. Or rather . . . it looks like someone broke her out.”

“Meaning?”

“Perhaps you should have a look for yourself, sir.”

When Rufus is brought to the cell, it’s to find a rather odd sight. The door has been pushed right inside, a large dent in the center as if someone had punched it over and over and over and over again, but surely no _human_ could have done something like this. 

Dark Nation is whining on the sofa, his head down. At the sight of Rufus, he leaps towards him, strangely affectionate, rubbing against Rufus’s legs as if he were a cat. He barks once, and runs out of the cell, waiting for his owner to catch up. 

“Did you check the security footage?” Rufus asks, completely bewildered, stepping backwards towards his dog, hoping to find some answers. 

“The control room was damaged during the first attack, sir,” the guard replies sheepishly, shrinking in front of the president. “The footage isn’t available after that, but she was definitely in here before Weapon came.”

Unable to think of a logical excuse, Rufus follows Dark Nation through the winding hallways of the command center, until they arrive at a back door that’s been dealt with the same way the cell door had been. 

There’s nothing out here but the skeleton of a burned car (and the charred skeleton of a person who had been _in_ the car). Dark Nation puts his nose to the ground, sniffing sniffing sniffing. There’s something dark on the ground by the outer wall of the building, and Rufus kneels down to inspect it. 

Someone had been bleeding here. There are several drops on the ground, but no trail to follow. Could it have been Charlie? Is that why Dark Nation is so interested in the blood in the first place?

A gust of sudden wind stirs the hair at the back of Rufus’s neck. A shadow crosses over him, large enough to be Weapon itself all over again. A thrill of terror shoots down his spine, but he turns around to face his enemy, only to find that it’s no Weapon at all. 

The _Highwind_ soars above him, flying away from Junon, hoping to put as much distance between themselves and the city as possible. Rufus swears loudly, watching as the dark-haired Avalanche girl is pulled up onto the deck, clinging to a rope. 

It’s only when someone leans over the railing to pull her up that his heart starts to beat a little faster. 

Charlie’s onboard that airship, looking very much alive. 

He closes his eyes, so relieved that he could faint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @dumb_apple_


	60. Chapter 60

They take refuge on a small island off the southern coast of the western continent, an island seemingly untouched by man and lush as the eye can see. 

Without any leads on Cloud, they may as well get some rest before they search tomorrow. Cid promises Tifa that they’ll find him, that it will be easy to search with the _Highwind_ at their disposal, able to cover far more ground in a day than they could with the downed _Tiny Bronco._

That night, he tries to get Lottie alone, but it’s near impossible. Everyone wants to hear what happened to her after she was captured, and she tells them vague little details like she always does, though Vincent does nothing to contradict her, and refuses to tell Cid the entire story, instead telling him, “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

But he doesn’t get the chance to. The girls all decide to retire to bed early, and Cid shows Charlie to her room first. It’s the biggest room, and he claims that it’s his apology for making off with her ship (that makes her smile, at least). 

Later, when he walks past her room and peeks in through the half-opened door, he pauses. She isn’t alone in bed and, though he shouldn’t spy on her, he pushes the door open just a little bit more to see who’s with her. 

Charlie is fast asleep in the middle of two bodies, her left arm stretched out to her side. Yuffie lies on Charlie’s exposed bicep, snoring away in the vice president’s ear, while Tifa sleeps with her back pressed against Charlie’s side. 

Cid smiles to himself, and it takes a lot of strength to pull his gaze away from Charlie, closing the door and making for the comfort of his own bed. 

He’ll have time to talk to her tomorrow.

* * *

“So, I think I have an idea of where to look for Cloud.”

“Okay. Lemme hear it, honey.”

“So, Cloud fell into the Lifestream at the Northern Crater, right?” Charlie says, the first time she’s voiced this thought. She didn’t want anyone to think it was a ridiculous idea (namely Barret, who seems a little on edge without Cloud here to take the heat), but she knows that Cid won’t think like that. “I know of a place south of the eastern continent, on a small island. It’s a place called Mideel.”

Cid looks up from his pilot’s hands, having been training him tirelessly all night and all morning. He cocks an eyebrow at her. “What does Mideel have to do with the Lifestream?”

“It was a place of interest for a reactor, years ago. My father and Reeve went to survey the land years ago,” she explains, never having seen the town herself, “and it’s really close to the Lifestream, so it’s possible it might have carried him there. I just thought . . . maybe we could check, if there aren’t any other leads.”

He smiles at her, nodding. “All right.” Turning to his pilot, he barks, “Set a course for Mideel!” 

Charlie feels herself swell with pride, a feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time. 

She’s been keeping close to Cid all morning, despite having woken to a nearly full bed. Tifa had fallen asleep with her, but Yuffie had snuck in sometime during the night, and Charlie was in no position to turn her away, allowing the girl to curl up on her arm, snoring. 

She doesn’t quite think she’s ready to talk to Cait Sith—no, to Reeve—about what happened in Junon. Not only does she want to die of shame all over again for what she did with Rufus in the days before her presumed execution (in her defense, she just wanted to die thinking she was loved), but he had been able to contact Veld _and_ Tseng quickly enough to plan an escape from the command center. 

It had been the truth, what she told him. She isn’t really mad at Reeve for keeping Veld’s status and location from her, and of course she isn’t mad at him for saving Tseng and keeping that secret, as well. It was the safest course of action, keeping two (former?) Turks hidden and away from Shinra’s (from Rufus’s) influence. 

And of course she’s thrilled that Reeve would choose to recruit two of the people she loves most in the world to rescue her, knowing that they wouldn’t let her down, knowing that they could be trusted to save her. 

But that doesn’t mean Charlie isn’t upset. 

She had cried herself to sleep for months after Veld left, having assumed the worst. Reeve had witnessed it, had comforted her, had been there for her, all while lying to her face. He was the one person in the world who was supposed to tell her the truth, and yet . . . maybe she had expected too much from him. 

After all, Reeve never claimed to be perfect, but Charlie will not deny that he’s damn close to it, or so _she_ thinks. 

She can’t help but wonder if he fought for her, if he tried to stop her execution, if he tried to talk Rufus out of it. She wants to believe that Reeve would do those things for her, just as she would do those things for him, but part of her has a hard time seeing Reeve standing up to her brother, to the president. 

Not that she was always the perfect little girlfriend, embarrassed of her relationship with the Turks, embarrassed of her relationship with her brother, embarrassed of things she had done and said, embarrassed to share most of those things with him. 

That’s a conversation she wants to have with _Reeve_ , not with Reeve through a toy cat.

* * *

Mideel is a small village on a large island to the south of the eastern continent. It’s located in the center of a thick jungle, but there’s a pathway for them to follow, so it isn’t such a bad trip. 

The buildings, the bridges between them, the windmill that turns with each slight breeze, the fence on either side of the path, it’s all built with wooden planks and scrap metal to give them protection from the rain that likely drowns this place. The only thing that isn’t made of metal or wood is the stone walkways, leading from one place to another, the rock sparse and covered in dirt with little wildflowers peeking up around and in-between them. 

It’s a sweet little village, and Charlie is glad that a reactor hasn’t been built here. It would be a shame to see such a hidden gem turned to nothing but browned and deadened landscape. 

“Let’s split up,” Barret suggests as they make their way into the village center together. He and Nanaki break off without a word, like they’ve already planned this.

Tifa and Yuffie decide to go the opposite way, Cait Sith and Vincent make for the second story of the village, where a few buildings rest upon sturdy wooden platforms, and Charlie finds herself alone with Cid again, but both of them recognize that this isn’t the time to be playful. 

Determined to find Cloud, determined to prove to them that she’s helpful, and eager to assist her new friends, Charlie and Cid scour the village to the best of their ability, speaking with locals who recognize her as the vice president and bless her several times for visiting their village, urging her to support the small shops that they’ve put together. 

Unfortunately, Charlie doesn’t have any money on her, but the shopkeeper tries to convince Cid to buy something after hearing some gil being rattled around in his pants pocket. The selection isn’t very good, but there’s a necklace that the shopkeeper holds up in front of his face, likely the most expensive item in the shop.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she asks him, ignoring Cid’s weak protests. “A perfect gift for your girlfriend.”

“Oh, we’re not—no, I’m not—she’s not—she’s not my girlfriend,” he stammers, blushing furiously and giving Charlie a quick sideways glance. “And I don’t—I don’t really have the money for that kinda thing.”

This puts him in a foul mood when they leave the shop, empty-handed. With his hands dug deep in his pockets, Cid keeps his head down as they continue their search of Mideel, kicking at the flowers that spring up from the ground, sighing very heavily. 

Charlie slides her arm around his, fingers curling around hard muscle. He must be sweating in his jacket. The air here is humid, but she isn’t complaining. She much prefers the suffocating heat to the icy wind and bitter cold of the northern continent. 

“Are you all right?” she asks him, flashing him a small smile when he glances her way again. “That necklace was ugly anyway, and I know it wasn’t real silver. She was trying to con you.”

He sighs again. He sighs a lot when he’s holding something in. Blushing again, he relents. “I just . . . wish I could buy you things, y’know?” he mutters, looking down at the ground again. “I ain’t seen you in a week, and I feel bad ‘bout everything.”

Charlie smiles more earnestly at him. “I don’t care about that. The world is ending and I don’t need anything.” She squeezes his bicep. “I’m just happy being with you.”

Cid stops walking abruptly, and Charlie continues to hold onto his arm. “Look, I’m really sorry ‘bout makin’ you wait a week.”

“Don’t apologize. I would rather have waited a week than have you never come at all.”

“Well . . .” He runs a hand through his hair, his finger getting caught on the goggles that sit upon his forehead. “Maybe tonight we could . . . talk or somethin’.”

She knows that he’s going to ask about what happened, and she knows that he’s probably going to press her for details, as well. But knowing that Meteor lingers in the sky overhead and remembering how Cid hadn’t recoiled when she confessed to kissing her brother, Charlie doesn’t feel so scared. She doesn’t feel so much like avoiding him, or running away from facing the truth this time. 

“I’d like that,” she replies with a slight shrug and a smile. “Maybe we could sit on the deck of the airship and look at the stars or something.”

A smile creeps onto his face. “Yeah, I’d like that, too.” 

* * *

The last place Charlie and Cid happen to wander into is a makeshift clinic on the edge of the village, half-hidden behind overgrown foliage. The doctor explains that two women had already come in asking after someone, and both she and Cid are led to a back room. 

“I just want to warn you before you enter, so you’re not taken by surprise,” the doctor tells them before opening the door. “The boy was found washed up about seven days ago, with the most severe case of mako poisoning that I’ve ever seen.”

Cid shakes his head, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Mako poisoning? What’s that mean?”

“It means that he’s been exposed to a high level of mako energy for a protracted period of time,” the old man continues, looking very apologetically at the both of them. “It’s very likely that he has no idea where he is, or even who he is. His speech . . . well, he’s been unable to form a coherent sentence all week. I don’t think he’ll realize that any of his friends have come to see him. He’s miles away from us.”

“Damn,” Cid sighs, looking down at Charlie. “Ain’t there anythin’ that can be done for him?”

The doctor glances quickly at the door. “Why don’t you look in on him, and then we can speak privately outside?”

The room Cloud is in has three hospital beds side-by-side, but he’s not in any of them. He sits in the corner of the room, limp in a wheelchair. His head hangs low and his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, his pupils blown out, breathing very raggedly. 

Tifa kneels before him, trying to see up into his face, and Yuffie keeps to herself in another corner of the room, crying bashfully into her hands. Charlie feels very much as if she and Cid are intruding on a very intimate moment between old friends, and they leave before Tifa realizes they’ve even entered the room. 

They meet the doctor outside, who seems very nervous to speak with them. “I’ve never seen a case this bad,” he confesses grimly, shaking his head. “An immense amount of mako-drenched knowledge was put into his brain all at once. No normal human could have survived this. It’s a miracle that he’s alive.”

“So . . . what’re we supposed to do?” Cid asks, though he looks as if he already knows the answer to his question. 

The doctor sighs. “We can make him comfortable, for the time being.” He puts on a brave face, then. “But remember, the light of hope can be found anywhere. If you give up hope now . . . what will happen to him?”

“Hope, huh?” Cid turns to face Charlie, frowning deep at her. “I guess that’s all that’s left for us now.”

Before the doctor can say anything more, Tifa exits the clinic, her eyes red. She looks determined enough, and Yuffie trails after her. “Hey, Tifa,” Charlie says softly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you all,” she answers, offering them a weak smile. “I just . . . I have something to tell you.” Tifa takes a few steps closer to them, holding her hands behind her back. “I . . . want to be by Cloud’s side.”

To Charlie’s surprise, Cid tells her, in a very confident voice, “Okay. Hang in there, kid.”

When Charlie opens her mouth to protest, Cid puts a hand on her back, shaking his head discreetly at her. 

“Please tell everyone that I’m so sorry, especially at a time like this.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yuffie says, going along with it in a falsely cheery voice. “We’ll come visit when we can, to check-in on you guys. Right, Charlie?”

Charlie purses her lips. “Right,” she says, but she doesn’t feel right leaving both Cloud and Tifa behind. Sure, there’s nothing that can be done for Cloud now, and maybe Tifa knows that these may be her last days. It makes sense that Tifa would want to spend her last days with her remaining family. 

It makes Charlie think about her own family, if she could call it that. It makes her think of how quickly she had been escorted away from Veld and Tseng by Vincent. Should she have stayed? Should she have gone to find Rufus? Should she have remained with her family during these last days of hers?

Cid suggests they find the rest of their friends, and the three of them depart slowly. When Charlie looks over her shoulder to see Tifa one last time, she’s already gone, having retreated back inside the clinic. 

* * *

“What’re we gonna do now?” 

Charlie lowers her eyes as Barret sighs from the front of the bridge. The _Highwind_ feels empty without Cloud and Tifa, despite the extra crew members that work the controls in silence. When no one else answers, Barret turns around again, looking around expectantly at everyone. 

“Well? Ain’t there anything we can do?” he asks again. “I ain’t about to sit around and wait for Cloud to get better.”

When Cait Sith steps forward to speak, Charlie looks up again, sitting on the edge of the upper level, swinging one leg back and forth. “Well, I’ve got some news.”

Barret looks ready to explode, and with Cait Sith approaching him so casually, it’s very likely the cat won’t survive the conversation. However, Barret shows incredible restraint. “Oh yeah, Mr. Shinra Spy? What damn news you got for us?”

“Well . . . Heidegger and Scarlet are up to something,” Cait Sith answers, and Charlie stops the movement of her leg, stilling. Beside her, Vincent seems to lean closer to Cait Sith, eager to hear more. “Wanna eavesdrop?” 

* * *

“Who did _you_ piss off, Reeve?”

He doesn’t answer, knowing what his face looks like already without Heidegger mocking him for it. Rufus watches the moron as he bursts into terrible laughter, tapping his fingers atop the conference table, a muscle jumping in his cheek. 

“Enough, Heidegger,” the president snaps, shutting Heidegger up immediately and causing him to flush. “Stop that stupid horse laugh, or I’ll see to it that you have a face to match the director’s.” He pushes himself to his feet, inclining his head politely at Reeve, who hides the bewilderment he feels at Rufus’s sudden change of heart. “Now . . . we’re currently faced with two issues. One: we need to destroy Meteor. And two: we need to remove the barrier around the Northern Crater and defeat Sephiroth. Does anyone have any ideas?”

Heidegger laughs, causing Rufus to scowl. “You’ll be pleased to know that we’ve already solved the first problem, Mr. President. Meteor will soon be smashed to bits!”

Rufus waits for him to continue, but Heidegger hardly needs prompting, very eager to reveal his plan. 

“The plan has already been put into motion. We’re collecting Huge Materia from each region.”

The president looks skeptical. Reeve can’t help but share that same skepticism. Truthfully, he isn’t quite sure what Huge Materia is, but it sounds like a terrible thing to use so recklessly. 

As if reading his mind, Scarlet picks up where Heidegger left off. “Huge Materia is a high-density, special type of materia made through a special compression process in mako reactors. The energy extracted from it is three-hundred-and-thirty times the strength of normal materia.”

_Another secret being hidden within the reactors,_ Reeve thinks, hoping that his thoughts don’t translate to Cait Sith. He needs to be careful. Should Rufus speak directly to him about Cait Sith or about Charlie or about Avalanche in general, it may very well give away his identity to the others. 

Scarlet smiles, straightening in her chair. “Once we gather all the Huge Materia, we can use it to destroy Meteor. Imagine the explosion it might cause! The Huge Materia will reduce Meteor to bits.”

“You’re going to use Huge Materia to . . .” Rufus pauses, narrowing his eyes at her. “. . . ram Meteor? Is it possible? Do we have the technology and resources to do it?”

“Don’t worry about a _thing_ , Mr. President,” Scarlet reassures him. “Before we worry about _how_ we’re going to send the Huge Materia to Meteor, we need to collect it, as Heidegger said, from each region. We’ve already collected what was in the Nibelheim reactor.”

Heidegger nods, turning to face Rufus again. “That leaves Corel and Fort Condor, and troops have already been dispatched to Corel. The bastards at Fort Condor don’t stand a chance, either.”

“Fine.”

Very aware of Rufus’s seemingly foul mood, the other executives are quick to leave shortly afterwards. Heidegger and Scarlet laugh the entire way out, and Palmer excuses himself silently, already having faced the president’s wroth once before. But as Reeve goes to follow them all out, Rufus calls him back with a, “Wait.”

Reeve quickly severs the connection between him and the cat, his heart thumping wildly. He keeps his face blank, stepping up to the opposite side of the long table and holding his hands in front of him. “Sir?”

“Don’t think I don’t know,” Rufus begins very ominously. “Don’t think I don’t know what your little _friend_ is doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Reeve lies. 

“Tell her I’m doing this for her,” he says quietly, sitting back down in the chair, the chair that had so often been occupied by the late president. “Destroying Meteor, saving the world . . . that’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

Clearing his throat, Reeve forces himself to smile. “I don’t know that I can speak for Charlotte, Mr. President.” He wonders how far he can go before Rufus hits him again. “Sir, if I may . . . are we certain there isn’t another way? Are we certain there are no risks involved with harvesting such powerful materia?”

“If Scarlet and Heidegger want to seem important for a few days, then let them,” Rufus replies patiently, scrunching his nose to show Reeve what he thinks of both executives. “If they succeed, it will be an enormous victory for the Shinra Corporation. If they fail, they will only have to live with that failure until Meteor hits the planet.”

“Yes, sir, I suppose you’re right.”

The president looks away, averting his eyes, instead looking down critically at his fingernails. “I wouldn’t have done it, you know,” Rufus says, his voice very soft. “I couldn’t have.”

“That’s very relieving to hear, sir,” Reeve answers, feeling as if that’s what Rufus wants to hear. Whether or not the president is telling the truth . . . he can’t be certain. “I am very grateful.”

Rufus scowls suddenly, turning his handsome features into something more twisted. “How can you stand it? How can you stand knowing that she’s forgotten about you and fallen in love with her pilot all over again?”

_I can’t bear it,_ he wants to say. _It’s everything I’ve ever been afraid of._ But instead, he settles for something gentler, something that is still truthful, even if it’s pathetic. “If she’s happy,” he begins, knowing that nothing he might do could change Charlie’s mind, not while he remains in Midgar, communicating to her through a toy he kept hidden from her for years, “then that’s all right.”

“You’re a better man than I am, then.” Rufus scoffs, rapping his knuckles against the table. “I suppose that’s why she chose you over me.”

Reeve can think of many reasons as to why Charlie might have chosen him over Rufus (the first reason being that Rufus is her brother), but he chooses to remain silent, inclining his head politely before taking his leave. 

* * *

Cait Sith suddenly stiffens, jerking around for a second before going limp, as if he’s been deactivated. 

“Hey!” Barret shouts, giving the cat a shake as if hoping to wake him from a deep sleep. “Hey! What the hell’s goin’ on! What’d they mean ‘bout troops bein’ dispatched to Corel?”

Charlie knows damn well why the cat must have shut off, but says nothing. She knows that Rufus is likely talking about _her_ , and it would be too easy to assume his identity if they eavesdropped on an intimate conversation between her brother and the man she was supposed to marry. 

“ _Huge_ Materia?” Nanaki thinks aloud, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. After he gathers his thoughts, he speaks up a little more loudly. “I’ve heard of it before, I think. When our smaller materia gets nearer to the Huge Materia, something should happen.”

“Don’t tell Yuffie what they’re after,” Cid snorts, glancing at Charlie with a crooked smile, proud of himself. It would be funnier if Yuffie were here to fight back instead of throwing up on the deck. 

“We can’t let Shinra get that Huge Materia!” Barret decides once and for all, curling his fingers into a fist. “Imagine what Cloud’ll say when he gets back and sees the Huge Materia we got!”

Cait Sith suddenly opens his mouth wide, leaping to his feet and giving his entire body a shake, like a cat waking from real sleep. No one seems to acknowledge this as odd, too used to the robotic toy jerking and deactivating randomly from time to time. 

“What are you saying, Barret?” the cat asks quickly, almost sounding like he’s _teasing._ “Even though you’re always knocking him, you really want Cloud back . . . just like you were worried ‘bout Charlie when we were escaping Junon.”

“Oh, Barret, you were worried about me?” Charlie asks quickly. 

Barret scoffs, putting his back to Charlie. “Just shut up, would you! Now listen, every group’s gotta have a leader.” He turns back around and smiles, putting a hand on his hip and looking far too arrogant for his own good. “And that’s me! Or at least, I wanna be . . . but I ain’t cut out for the job. I’ve learned that recently ‘bout myself.”

“So who’s going to step up, then?” Cait Sith looks around. They’re a small group without three of their party members present, but at least Yuffie will still be of some help on the ground. 

“Bet Shinra’s dyin’ to be voted leader,” Barret replies, glaring at Charlie like it’s her fault for worrying him so much in Junon. 

“I don’t want to be the leader,” she retorts truthfully. Perhaps she could lead a city from the topmost floor of the Shinra Building, but leading her friends is a different thing entirely. Charlie thinks for a minute, but it’s really not a difficult decision at all. “I think Cid should be the leader.”

“What?” Cid blinks at her, getting to his feet from where he had been sitting, just at the pilot’s feet. “Me? You think so?”

“Dunno if you know this, but a Shinra’s word is law. Guess that makes you the new leader, Cid,” Barret shrugs.

No one argues against it, except for Cid. He shakes his head, flashing Charlie an exasperated look. “I don’t wanna be the leader,” he answers, looking around at everyone. “Sounds like a pain in the ass, if you ask me. Why can’t you do it, Lottie?”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Barret waves a hand around to stop him from speaking any more nonsense. “No offense, but we ain’t gonna have some Shinra be our leader—no offense, Charlie.”

“None taken.” She understands. “I suppose it wouldn’t be right to have the strongest anti-Shinra resistance group headed by a Shinra.” Then she thinks about her brother’s confession. She still needs to tell Cid about that, about the sabotaged rocket. She hadn’t even thought about it during all the confusion that followed. 

Barret nods. “Yeah, and you’ve got the _Highwind_ , Cid. We need this ship to save the planet, so that’s why you’re our new leader. Ain’t no one else can do the job like you.”

“The new leader, huh . . .” Cid puts his hands on his hips, puffing his chest out. His eyes flicker furtively to Charlie, who catches him, holding her hand up to her mouth and giggling softly. “What’cha think, Lottie? You really think I’ll be a good leader?”

“Okay, okay,” Cait Sith interrupts him, making Cid frown. “If you’re just gonna use this moment to stroke your own ego . . .”

Cid blushes, turning away from Charlie to face Barret, who seems content with this new leadership and begins to divulge their first duty. “We gotta get the Huge Materia from Corel and Fort Condor before Shinra does! They’ve done enough to Corel!”

“Okay,” Cid says, thinking hard for a minute and tapping his chin with his index finger. “We’ll have to split up. Lottie and Barret, you’re comin’ with me to Corel. Vincent, Cait, Nanaki, we’ll drop y’all—and Yuffie—off at Fort Condor.”

“You ready, Shinra?” Barret asks her, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards. 

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever really be _ready_. Accepting this mission means outing herself as a traitor, if people didn’t already know before, but she will not let Shinra wreak any more havoc on Corel. She will not let Shinra destroy something else in this world. 

Charlie smiles back at him. 

_And if Meteor kills us all, at least I could die knowing I was good._

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m ready.”

* * *

“Charlotte, come here for a second.”

Charlie stops outside of the room Vincent has claimed as his own, smiling sweetly at Cid. “You go ahead, Captain. I’ll catch up in a minute,” she tells him, watching him strut towards the Operation Room, walking like he’s the most important man on board this ship, and maybe he is. 

She follows Vincent into the small hold, big enough for him and him alone. It’s a room meant for lesser crew, with a bunk-bed tucked into a corner, a circular window set against the back wall, and a sink built into the wall. There’s a table, as well, where Vincent has laid out several firearms that he’s collected along the way.

He picks up a satchel off the floor and digs around in it for a moment before pulling out a handsome pistol, the sides engraved with beautiful, silver patterns. Vincent holds it out to her, and Charlie accepts it, turning it over in her hands. 

“Veld gave that to me a long time ago,” he explains, sitting down at the edge of his bed. “It still works, but . . . I thought you should have it.” 

“It’s lovely,” she says with a smile, looking back up at him. “But you should keep it. It’s yours, and he wanted you to have it.”

“I don’t use it anymore. I might as well give it to someone who will use it.” Vincent pauses, watching her trace the patterns with her fingertips. “You’re not a bad shot, so long as you keep your mouth shut. Talking only makes you more distracted.”

Charlie blushes, but can’t help laughing to herself. Looking back down at the gun, she says, “It was good to see him again, after all this time. Thank you.”

* * *

Cid has the _Highwind_ land just outside of Fort Condor first, where the Shinra military has yet to arrive. Before their four companions disembark, Cid has them all meet together on the deck of the airship. 

“We’re all gonna get through this, and we’re all gonna make it back on this ship,” he says in the most arrogant voice he can muster. It reminds her of better days, listening to him talk to their crew at the base of the Shinra No. 26, boosting morale with a few choice words. “We’re all gonna make it. For Cloud, for Tifa. And for Aerith.”

The mere mention of Aerith’s name hangs heavily over them all, but it is not uncomfortable. Instead, it feels as if Cid’s speaking her name has invoked her spirit, her love. 

“Good luck,” Charlie tells them all, lowering the rope ladder over the side of the _Highwind._

Vincent takes Nanaki under his arm and leaps over the side, forgoing the ladder completely. Cait Sith climbs down from his moogle, instead clambering up onto Yuffie’s shoulders with her help, holding on tight as she makes for the ladder. 

“I’ll see you soon, right, Charlie?” he asks, just before Yuffie takes them down. 

Charlie nods, unsure of what the future holds. “Right.”

When it’s just the three of them left—herself, Cid, and Barret—they watch their friends hurry towards Fort Condor, not once looking back. Charlie can’t help but feel doubtful, anxious, but she isn’t the only one. 

“Don’t tell me you’re havin’ second thoughts,” Barret teases her gruffly, stepping up to her right side to watch the disappearing figures of their companions. “You _know_ we can’t let your brother get that Huge Materia.”

“I know, I know.” Does she know? Isn’t anything worth trying with the world ending? Or is Barret right? Should that knowledge within the Huge Materia be preserved for future generations? Is that something to throw away so easily? “I just . . . I knew, when I left Costa del Sol, that I might never be able to return to my old life. But when we go to Corel, and my treason is made public knowledge . . .”

“Hey.” Barret’s large hand comes to rest upon her shoulder. Charlie tears her attention away from the giant condor, looking up into Barret’s face. When he speaks, his voice is soft, almost understanding. “There ain’t no gettin’ offa this train we’re on.”

Charlie looks north, where she knows Midgar lies many, many miles away, a city that she may never return to. “I know.”


	61. Chapter 61

“. . . Reeve?”

He blinks, looking back down at Marlene. He isn’t certain how long she’s been calling his name, propping her head up on the table with an elbow. 

“Where _were_ you?”

“I’m sorry, darling.” Reeve pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling softly. The mathematics homework Marlene’s tutor had assigned her is scattered all over the kitchen table. “I’m a little distracted today.”

“More than a little,” Marlene huffs, making him smile as she continues to pout, tapping the end of her pencil repeatedly against the table. 

“Meaning?” he prompts her, teasing, eager to hear what she has to say. Barret’s daughter has quickly wormed her way into Reeve’s heart, sweet and precocious and able to sniff out his moods without having to give her any indication as to how he’s feeling. 

She blushes, reaching down to pet Cat as he saunters by the table, circling their legs and brushing his tail against their knees. 

“Marlene, please sit up at the table.” It’s not an unkind request, but Marlene casts him a stormy look. Regardless of how clever she is, she’s still a little girl, and she still doesn’t like being told what to do by someone who isn’t her parent. Regardless of _that_ , she straightens up as she’s told. “Say what you mean. It must be important to you.”

“You don’t visit as much anymore.”

For a moment, Reeve is struck dumb. She won’t look him in the eyes, instead resting her cheek upon the tabletop and playing with her pencil again. It’s hard to explain to her that he’s trying to juggle three different lives at the moment. 

Lifting her eyes, she asks, “Do you not like us?”

“What? No! Marlene, it has nothing to do with you or Elmyra. Of course I like you.” He smiles at her, very tired. “I’m sorry. I’ve been very busy lately, but I’ll try to be better.”

This doesn’t seem to make Marlene feel any better at all. “Is Daddy coming home soon?”

Reeve hesitates. He had been lucky enough to warn Elmyra ahead of time so Marlene hadn’t been forced to accidentally bear witness to the almost-execution of her father, but he knows there is no avoiding this. “Yes,” he says quietly, a lie, “he’ll be home soon.”

It strikes a chord with him, truthfully. He thinks of Charlotte as a young girl, wondering where her father had gone when he would leave for weeks, assigning a Turk to take over his role as the patriarch until he returned. What would Veld have told Charlotte? Would he have lied to her to comfort her? Surely he would. 

“I have an idea, but I’ll understand if you think it terribly boring, of course.” Reeve watches her eyes light up, full of mischief and curiosity. “If I take the whole day off tomorrow, perhaps we could . . . oh, well . . . it’s a ridiculous idea, really . . . never mind. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to . . .”

“No, I want to know! You have to tell me now!” Marlene looks very seriously at him, her bottom lip sticking out. When she speaks again, it’s in a sing-song, taunting voice. “Say what you mean, Reeve.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and she tries in vain to stifle her smile at his look of incredulity. Holding his hands up in surrender, he concedes defeat. “All right, if you insist.” A chuckle escapes him. “I thought maybe the three of us could go to the lake tomorrow. Do you remember me pointing it out to you? It was a few miles after the pond we saw on our way here.”

She nods quickly, though he knows she had been sulking when he pointed it out. “Can we? Can we go, please? Will you ask Elmyra? I’ve never gone swimming before. Do _you_ know how to swim? Will you teach me?”

Reeve holds up a hand to calm her down, laughing to himself still. Marlene seems ready to burst with excitement and more questions. “Only good girls who finish their schoolwork get to go to the lake—”

“You’re only saying that because Elmyra yelled at you last time.”

“Schoolwork is very important, you know.”

But it’s true. The last time he had come, they had snuck away for ice cream within a few minutes of his arrival after Marlene begged and begged and begged non-stop, only to come face-to-face with a very disappointed Elmyra waiting for them in the kitchen. She had caught him and Marlene red-handed, ice cream cones held up to their faces as they walked through the front door. 

“I thought I told you no ice cream before you finish your schoolwork,” Elmyra had chided Marlene, before scolding Reeve about spoiling the little girl too much, but in his defense, it’s not like he has much else to spend his money on. 

“ _Ooh!_ ” Marlene had giggled quietly, waiting until Elmyra headed back upstairs, leaving them to finish their ice cream in the kitchen together. “You’re in _trouble_.”

“You tricked me,” Reeve had answered with a smile, winking at her as Elmyra called back down the stairs to tell them she could still hear them scheming together.

Marlene pouts again, swinging her legs back and forth and scaring Cat away. “I thought you were going to help me with my work.”

“What do you need my help with? Look at this. You’re doing fantastic. You’re already smarter than me.”

“It’s not nice to tease, you know,” Marlene tells him, scrunching her nose and sticking out her tongue. 

“Marlene, put your tongue back in your mouth, please. That’s not very kind.”

Both Reeve and Marlene look up to find Elmyra standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking sternly at the both of them. She opens the refrigerator and hunches over, gathering some things from inside. 

While she’s unable to see them, Reeve leans close to Marlene. “Ooh,” he whispers, “you’re in _trouble_.”

Marlene giggles behind her hands. 

The refrigerator door shuts, and Elmyra has her eyebrows raised in a very uncompromising way at him. “Don’t encourage her.”

* * *

Thankfully, the _Highwind_ had been able to drop them off close to the reactor, saving them a hike up Mount Corel, but they hadn’t been close enough to stop the Huge Materia from being loaded up onto a Shinra train. 

Overlooking the reactor from a nearby cliff, pressed low to the ground, the three of them look over the situation and their surroundings before doing anything drastic. Barret thinks it’s a good idea to approach guns blazing, taking out the guards on either side of the reactor entrance before they even know what’s coming. Cid doesn’t think it’s a terrible idea, but Charlie thinks it might be easier if she just walked up alone and played the part of vice president. 

“The minute you walk up there, they’re gonna kill you,” Barret scoffs, holding his gun-arm out. “Think I can get ‘em from here?”

“Wait!” Charlie hisses, placing a hand on his forearm. “Those guards are only doing their jobs! You’re just going to walk up and kill them?”

“Don’t act like these’ll be the first Shinra guards that we’ve killed.” Regardless, Barret moves his arm to appease her. “Sometimes there ain’t no other way, Charlie. It’s either us or them, and sooner or later, you’re gonna have to use that gun of yours.”

“You think they’ll let you in?” Cid asks her, turning his head to the right. When Charlie looks back at him, she blushes upon noticing how close they are to each other. 

“Maybe.” She isn’t sure herself, but if she can avoid killing anyone, she would prefer to go that route. She also knows that it’s very impractical, and it would be much easier to rid themselves of guards completely. “I could try to sabotage the train, or at least sneak on board.”

“You’re not gettin’ on that train by yourself,” Barret snaps at her, but it’s out of concern instead of distrust. “No matter _what_ Vincent says, I ain’t seen you shoot yet. You’re gonna make us all look like amateurs if you get on that train and start missin’ all your damn targets.”

“I think you’re going to be very impressed when you eventually see me shoot, Barret.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon, huh?”

“It’s worth a shot. If we can do this without drawin’ any attention to ourselves, then we should. Go on, kiddo,” Cid encourages her, pushing himself to his knees. “We’ll cover you, just in case.”

Charlie makes her way down the cliff, with Barret and Cid trailing a short distance away from her. Her heart is already throbbing at the prospect of what they’re going to do. She’s about to commit open treason, and while she knows it’s all for the greater good, and that it’s best to keep Huge Materia and the Ancients’ knowledge from being carelessly thrown at Meteor in an act of her brother’s desperation, and that stopping this train from going right through North Corel is the right thing to do, it still doesn’t sit very well with her. 

As she approaches the reactor, Charlie holds her hands up to show the guards that she’s unarmed, despite the engraved side of her gun pressing against the small of her back. 

“Put your guns down!” she snaps, when both guards lift their firearms to stop her coming any closer. “Don’t you recognize the vice president when you see her?”

She knows she doesn’t look like the vice president, surely. Her clothes are dirty and cheap, she isn’t wearing any jewelry or makeup, she hasn’t washed her hair in two days and it’s pulled back into a braid to hide that fact. But she’s still a Shinra, and right now, she needs to act like one. 

“Madam Vice President . . . !” The guards don’t lower their weapons right away, which sets Charlie’s heart to fluttering again. They look at each other, and the first one speaks. “I’m sorry, Madam Vice President, but we have explicit orders not to let you through.”

“Orders from who?”

“From Director Heidegger and Director Scarlet, ma’am.”

Charlie scowls, trying to seem as imposing as possible. The audacity of it all insults her, the idea that these guards might hold Scarlet and Heidegger in higher regard than _her._ Is this what her life has become? “And what of my brother? What of the _president_?” she calls out to them. “Does the Shinra name really mean so little these days? What are your names?”

The guards look at each other again, hesitating. Charlie takes another step forward, holding her chin up high, like Tseng taught her. Chin up, shoulders back, spine straight. She is the vice president, and she must believe that Shinra guards would not kill her, but the moment she takes another step, they raise their guns again. 

“Madam Vice President, please don’t come any closer or we’ll be forced to shoot!”

“Excuse me?”

“ _Please_ , Miss Shinra,” the second guard begs, his voice high. “Please, don’t take another step.”

“If you shoot me, you will be _gutted_ by the Turks, do you understand that?” 

“We’re only following orders, Madam Vice President,” the first guard tells her, not unkindly, but firmly. “And I have to ask you again not to come any closer—”

“Charlie, get down!”

At the sound of Barret’s voice, Charlie drops to the ground as gunshots ring out around her. Her face presses uncomfortably against the railroad tracks, her hands pressed to her ears as the guards shout and Barret continues to shoot round after round after round, spraying the vicinity. Hot shells singe the skin on her arms. 

Gloved fingers wrap around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. “You good?” Cid says, brushing off her shoulders before pulling her towards the entrance to the reactor, where both guards lie dead on the ground, riddled with bullet wounds, blood pooling beneath them in the dirt. 

She looks up into his face, pressing her back against the reactor’s steel wall. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cid replies, with a little smile on his face. “You took a chance. Not all of ‘em work out, but now we know.”

She nods, trying to ignore the bodies on the ground. 

A whistle sounds from within, and she hears the creaking of the train as it gathers speed. A few seconds later, the train emerges, hissing past the three of them. Thankfully, the dead bodies barely escape a more gruesome disfiguring. 

From the other side of the entrance, Barret growls up at the sky before shouting over to them, “We gotta catch that train!”

“Just let me fuckin’ handle it, okay?” Cid shouts back at him, hesitating at the entrance to the reactor, his eyes still fixed on the train that’s slowly gathering speed, headed back towards North Corel. 

Charlie looks inside the reactor, pleased to see that there’s one more mode of transportation left to them. “Cid!”

He appears at her side within a second, and Barret runs inside recklessly, the both of them following her line of sight to the small train car that’s parked right inside, the reactor nearly half the size of the ones in Midgar and far older. 

“That’ll work,” Cid mutters, elbowing her gently in the side and grinning. 

Charlie reaches the car first, jumping up onto the small platform and looking around frantically as Cid and Barret look over her shoulders. The control panel is loaded with buttons and levels, and her hands hover above it, unsure of where to begin. 

“Okay, I can figure this out. It’s just like turning on a helicopter. Or a rocket ship.” She sighs heavily, looking for something that seems out of place, something that could be a start button. “I can do this. I can do this.”

“Here, let me—”

“No!” Charlie barks at Cid, just as he tries to nudge her out of the way. His eyes widen and he holds his hands up, taking a step back. “I can _do this._ ”

Deciding to take another chance, unsure of whether or not it will work, Charlie flips several switches and presses a few buttons, keeping an eye on the gauges, waiting to see if anything is going to happen. After another few seconds, and some grumbling under Barret’s breath, Charlie pushes another button and the control panel seems to spring to life, lighting up before her very eyes. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Cid grabs onto the side of the train car as it jerks and rumbles beneath his feet, sending him stumbling. Without much effort, the car begins to chug and puff down the railroad tracks and out of the reactor, following after the train with the Huge Materia. “All right! Good job, Lottie!”

“You _do_ know how to drive a train, don’t you?” Barret asks from behind Charlie, looking slightly more optimistic. 

Charlie turns her gaze on Cid, eyes wide. “Don’t look at me like that!” Cid replies, holding his hands up in defense. “I dunno how to drive a train!”

“Neither do I!” Charlie scoffs. “I’m not a conductor! I can’t drive a train!”

Barret’s optimism disappears suddenly. “What’d’you mean you can’t drive a train?” he shouts over the blaring of the train’s whistle. “It’s got your goddamn name on it, Shinra!”

“Just because it has my name on it doesn’t mean I know what to do with it!” she shrieks, incredulous. “Believe it or not, learning how to operate a train isn’t mandatory when your last name is Shinra!”

“You can pilot a rocket but you can’t pilot a train? We gotta make this thing go faster, now!”

“A train is not the same thing as a rocket! It’ll just follow the tracks, right?” Swallowing her pride, Charlie looks pleadingly at Cid. “Help me!”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Cid announces, putting his hands on his hips and giving them both a cocky little smile that’s diluted by a certain amount of fear. “I got this! I can figure it out!” He looks back towards the controls, grabbing hold of two large levers experimentally. “If I just . . . do this . . .” 

He pushes one and pulls the other, and the train jerks again as it picks up speed a little. Charlie pokes her head around the side, looking for a sign of the Huge Materia. “I see it! I see the train!” she shouts over her shoulder, the other train speeding along on the tracks parallel to them. “Just a little bit faster!”

“Okay, hold on tight!”

With an enormous amount of effort that leaves Cid grunting each time he shifts the levers, the train car continues to gather speed, swaying precariously upon the tracks. Charlie keeps her eye on the other train, which continues to keep a steady pace as they quickly approach it. “Just a little bit further!” she urges him. “We’re almost there!”

“ _Fuck_ , my arms are burnin’—”

“You’re doing a great job!” Charlie says, turning to face him and smiling reassuringly. “I know you’re strong enough. Just a little longer, okay?”

Her compliment works, just as she hoped it would. It takes him a minute to register what she’s said, but then he clears his throat, moving the levers even faster. Cid cocks an eyebrow, and in a lower, rougher, and far more charming voice, he asks, “You think I’m strong, huh?”

“Hey! _Hey!_ Quit flirting!” Barret roars over the rushing of the wind in their faces. “We ain’t got time for that now! We’re comin’ up on the train!”

“Okay, okay! We’re gonna have to just jump!” Cid says, as their train car catches up to the caboose of the train with the Huge Materia. Charlie casts him a horrified look. “Barret, you’re up first, big boy!”

Barret’s feet have already left the ground by the time he tells them, “Ain’t gotta tell me twice!”

Charlie, reluctant, hesitates at the edge of the car. The gap between the two trains is far wider than anything she’s ever jumped before, and if she comes up short, she’s going to plunge all the way down Mount Corel and to her death. “Why don’t you go first? I’ll be right behind you,” she says quickly to Cid, who pulls away from the levers and picks his weapon back up. 

“No can do, baby. A captain always goes down with his ship. Or at least doesn’t leave anyone behind.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“Dunno. What’s that thing Barret says?”

“About getting off a train?”

“No, not that. But that’ll work, too.”

Cid wraps his arm tight around her waist, and without a second thought, leaps from the side of the train car. Charlie holds onto him, looking down at the bottom of the mountain, many many many many many miles below her. They soar across the gap, landing hard and loud upon the roof of the caboose, their little train car moving down the tracks of its own accord now with no one left to control it. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she says breathlessly, his arm lingering around her waist, her hand splayed over his racing heart. “My hero.”

“Glad y’all could make it,” Barret tells them, as Charlie stands up straight on shaky legs and puts some distance between herself and Cid. “Now let’s go! We gotta stop this train!”

Cid gives Charlie a curt nod, and the three of them begin to race across the tops of the cars, keeping to the middle and hunching over to keep the wind from blowing them right off. To their right is the cliff-side, dangerously close to the side of the train, with their other side is nothing but open air, a steep drop-off that would kill all three of them if they fell. 

There’s a lone conductor at the very front of the train, dressed in the recognizable blue of the Shinra army. He doesn’t hear them approaching over all the noise, but once Cid and Charlie jump down from atop the previous car’s rooftop, the man startles and looks over his shoulder, hands still on the levers.

“Wh—you guys? _Miss Shinra?_ ”

“That’s right!” Cid says, holding the point of his spear to the back of the conductor’s neck. “Now stop the goddamn train and hand over the Huge Materia!”

The conductor moves quickly, reaching for the rifle that leans against the front of the car, but Cid is quicker, digging the tip of his blade into the base of the man’s neck and throwing him off the side of the train, sending him tumbling down the side of the mountain. 

Charlie is horrified, but she knows that it had to be done. In fact, Cid seems rather proud of himself, his chest swelling. “Cid, you just killed the one person who knows how to drive the train!”

Cid blinks at her, as if just now realizing this. “Oh, fuck—”

“We don’t have time for this!” Barret is still above them, holding onto the top of the train and looking down at Charlie and Cid, lying flat on his stomach as the wind causes his eyes to well up with tears. “If we don’t stop this train, we’re gonna crash right into North Corel!”

“I fuckin’ know already!” Cid snaps back at him, hands hovering over the levers again. “Everyone just . . . shut up and lemme think!” Unable to see ahead of her, Charlie braces herself, waiting for Cid to slow them down. “If I did . . . well, if we used . . . levers . . . accelerate . . . if I just do the opposite of what I did before, it’ll slow us down, right?”

“What are you asking _me_ for?” Charlie screams, feeling sick to her stomach. The train is gaining a dangerous amount of speed, taking a slight turn on the tracks and threatening to throw them all out to splatter upon the hard ground. “Just do it!”

With another grunt, Cid pushes both levers up and then pulls them both down. The train car jerks, but instead of slowing down, they only move faster. From on high, she can hear Barret yelling himself hoarse. “ _What are you doing!_ ”

“Fuck! Just hang on, I got this! I _got_ this! This time, I’ll—” Cid does the same thing, which results in another increase in speed. 

Charlie grabs hold of his arm, tearing him away from the levers. “Cid, stop it! You’re making it worse!” 

“Charlie, please just shut up right now unless you’ve got a better idea—”

“Cid, just _stop!_ ”

“Goddamnit, Lottie, I can do this! Just—” Cid pulls both levers down again, ignoring her hands tugging at his sleeve—“ _trust me!_ ” 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Barret grips the car tighter with his hand, putting his head down as if afraid to watch what’s going to happen next. 

“Everyone hold onto somethin’! I think we’re gonna crash!”

Charlie looks around desperately, choosing to wrap her arms around Cid’s middle and bury her face into his chest. He tenses at first, but soon relaxes in her grip, draping an arm around her shoulders and holding her tight, his other hand wrapped around a lever, his his hands soaked with sweat. 

The train rounds another corner, hissing black smog into the open sky. Charlie lifts her eyes to see North Corel coming into view, recognizable by the banner that’s draped across the end of the tracks. They’re moving so quickly that they’ll surely destroy the entire town, but they’re getting closer and closer, and perhaps it’s only an illusion, but the train seems to be slowing down the closer they approach . . . 

Until the train stops completely, just before the junkyard village of North Corel. With her fingers tangled in Cid’s jacket, Charlie looks around in complete disbelief.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Cid breathes, releasing the lever with his free hand and holding it to his heart. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” she groans, her stomach twisting as adrenaline continues to pump through her veins. “Or faint.”

Barret doesn’t say anything, but his expression says enough. He breathes heavily, lying limp atop the car, looking as if they’ve just saved the world from Meteor’s impending destruction. 

Cid looks down at her, grinning crookedly. He deserves that arrogant little smile on his face right now. “Told you I got it. You should have a little faith in me, honey.”

Charlie can’t help but smile, breathless. Her heart is still pounding, and her stomach is clenching painfully after the most frightening experience of her life. “I’ll never doubt you again, I swear,” she answers hoarsely, pulling away from him as several villagers approach the side of the train car. 

“Is everyone okay here?” An elderly woman with a deeply lined face holds her hands out for Charlie to take, helping her down off the side. As Charlie struggles to keep her balance on legs that feel boneless, the woman suddenly gasps. “Miss Shinra! You’re—but you are—aren’t you—? Did you—did you stop that train?”

Charlie opens and closes her mouth, hearing a _clang!_ that can only be Barret jumping down from the roof of the car. “Well, _he_ did, actually,” she explains, pointing at Cid, who blushes furiously at all the eyes that fix upon him. 

“She helped,” Cid elaborates quickly, stepping up to her side and slipping his arm around her. 

Barret jumps down from the train, dust clouding up at his feet when he lands on solid ground, nodding up at Charlie. “She’s with us.”

“Shinra was going to destroy our lives again,” one man tells them, hanging his head low and giving it a shake. “It might be full of junk, but this is our home, and it’s the only home we’ve got. Ain’t that right, Barret?”

“That’s right!” Barret says triumphantly, pointing his gun at one of the train cars and unloading until the lock falls off and he’s able to open the door. “Born and raised in the coal mines! Now matter how tough it gets—” He disappears for a moment within the car, but his voice echoes outside of it—“our hearts burn bright red like coal!”

When he jumps back out of the train car, he’s holding something in his hand, something _huge._ It seems to glow, as red as the coal he was talking about. 

“You all must be so tired,” the old woman says, smiling sweetly at Charlie. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll show you to the inn. It’s the least we can do for you after stopping that train.”

Charlie looks up at Cid, at their leader, hoping for a short break. Cid smiles down at her and agrees. “Okay. I guess we could spare a few hours to rest. Lead the way, ma’am.”

The inn is just a shack with a few mismatched beds, but it’s there that Cid decides to call the others to tell them the good news, hoping there’s good news on the receiving end, as well. 

It’s Cait Sith that answers. 

“Hey, everyone okay?”

“ _Everyone’s good on our end. You?_ ”

“Doin’ great, real great. We got great news—we got the Huge Materia,” Cid tells him as the three of them huddle around the phone in his hand. “How’re things goin’ over there?”

“ _Real good. Turns out, we were only protectin’ the condor and its egg from Shinra. One of the guys here took the Huge Materia outta the reactor ages ago, so it’s safe with us now._ ”

“That’s great.” Cid looks up and smiles at Charlie. “We’re gonna catch some z’s here and we can be on our way in a few hours.”

“ _Actually, I guess they’re doin’ somethin’ special to honor the condor’s hatched egg, so we’re in no rush to leave here. But listen,_ ” Cait Sith continues quickly, “ _there’s one more reactor we’ll have to reach. It’s the underwater reactor in Junon, but they haven’t dispatched anyone there yet. It’ll be risky to intercept it. They’re probably gonna add extra security after we screwed with their plans with the materia here and at Corel._ ”

“Okay, keep an ear out,” Cid nods, looking around at Charlie and Barret as if waiting for them to add something else. “We’ll stay here tonight, have the crew pick us up in the mornin’, and we’ll head for Mideel to see the kids until you get word on the Huge Materia.”

“ _You got it._ ”

Cid ends the call and sighs heavily, flopping backwards onto one of the beds without bothering to kick his shoes off. “Time for a nap, I think.”

Charlie smiles down at him, blushing when she catches Barret watching her. 

* * *

With Meteor glowing brighter than any moon he’s ever seen, the people of North Corel gather underneath its glow that night, seated around a bonfire with makeshift and homemade instruments, drinking and singing folk songs that Barret knows the words to and enjoying each other’s company in what may be their last days. 

Charlie sits on the other side of the fire, surrounded by children who touch the ends of her hair and curl up in her lap and take up all of her attention. There’s a small smile on her face, and she’s patient and kind to the children. 

Cid can’t say he’s ever really seen Charlie interact with kids before. He’s always hated little brats, always asking questions and tugging on sleeves and interrupting things that shouldn’t be interrupted. But she seems to adore them, doting on them and braiding the girls’ hair, allowing others to run small and sticky fingers through her own hair. 

He drinks deep from the cup he was provided, filled with bitter beer that had been found during their search of the train. It’s disgusting, but it’s strong, and if he drinks too much, he’s going to be passed out drunk right here within five minutes. 

It’s already bolstered his courage (something he could have used more of a few hours ago), and he’s primed to do something stupid tonight. 

Despite their near death experience today, and with Meteor hanging over their heads, Cid feels fucking _amazing_. 

Charlie lifts her eyes to look across the fire at Cid. As soon as their eyes meet, she smiles, but it’s short-lived, fading away as quickly as it came on. She looks back down at the children, speaking quietly, too quiet to be heard over the tapping and drumming and strumming and singing, and then she stands up and walks away. 

Cid’s eyes follow her the entire way. She makes for the train, fading away into the darkness until the only thing he can see of her is her hair, silver in the white moonlight, and then she’s gone to him for good. Briefly (he knows it’s paranoid), he worries that she’s gone to him forever, just like he thought she would be when he left Junon, leaving Charlie behind with her maniac brother. 

Barret sits down loudly beside him, sighing and looking around. “Talk to your girl yet?” 

“She ain’t my girl.” He pulls a cigarette out of his almost-empty soft pack, putting it to his lips and flicking his lighter. “Don’t make any fuckin’ assumptions, yeah? You’ll piss her off, and sound like a goddamn fool while doin’ it.”

To his surprise, Barret tilts his head back and laughs. “I ain’t makin’ any assumptions. I’m only callin’ it like I see it.” When Cid doesn’t laugh with him, his face takes on a more serious expression. “She ain’t been herself since wakin’ up from her beauty sleep. Go talk to her.”

“If you’re so concerned, then why don’t _you_ talk to her?” Cid retorts coldly, unsure why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s the realization that she’ll never be his girl, and the fact that he’s known it all this time.

“‘Cause she likes you. She don’t like me, and she ain’t gonna want to hear any advice from me, either.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Cid scoffs, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Some days, I don’t think she likes me, either.”

Barret shakes his head, getting back to his feet. Cid doesn’t like the disappointed way he looks down upon him. “That girl just committed treason against her father’s company and her brother, all ‘cause you told her to.”

“The fuck do you care ‘bout Shinra?”

“I don’t. I don’t give a fuck about Shinra. I think they’re all a bunch of greedy assholes.” He shrugs, finishing his drink and smacking his lips. “But Charlie’s all right. She’s better than Cait Sith, anyway. But don’t tell her I said that, or she’ll get all pissed off at me. She’s taken a likin’ to the cat.”

Cid finds her sitting on the edge of the caboose’s roof, crying softly into her hands with her knees drawn up to her chest. He can still hear the faint music in the background, the raucous and drunken singing. She doesn’t notice that he’s crept up on her, but she hears him when he begins to climb the ladder up to join her. 

“Oh.” She quickly wipes her eyes and turns her face away from him as he walks up to her. “I’m sorry.”

“You okay?” he asks, sitting down beside her, close enough to have their shoulders touching. She doesn’t pull away from him. “Been a long few days, hasn’t it?”

Charlie is quiet for a moment, looking up at the sky. It’s hard to admire the stars when Meteor is so bright, turning the night sky orange and red, like a permanent sunset. “Why does it hurt so much?” 

“Why does what hurt?”

She gives him a weak, exasperated little smile. “I know that my father’s company has done horrible things, and I know now that my brother is . . .” Charlie shakes her head. 

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ What is he supposed to say to that? He’s never been good at talking to her kindly about the company, and he still doesn’t know what to say. 

“But the company took care of me, and kept me safe. My name—my father’s name—presented opportunities to me, and gave me a platform to speak. It gave me a voice. It gave me a career. It gave me a fiancé who loved me very much, and a family that loved me when my own father chose to mistreat my brother and I.”

Cid puts a hand on her back as she buries her face in her hands again. 

“I was the _vice president_. After years of it being an unattainable dream . . . wishful thinking on behalf of my brother . . . and it happened. Oh, Gods . . .” she moans. “I turned my back on the company that gave me everything.”

She sure as hell doesn’t look like the vice president now. “What can I do?”

Charlie looks up at him, teary-eyed, speaking very softly. “I just need you to tell me that it all hasn’t been for nothing.”

That’s easy. “I don’t think it’s all been for nothin’.”

The corners of her lips tick upwards, but it’s a sad smile. “Why are you so good to me?”

Cid flushes, looking down into his lap and fidgeting uncomfortably. “C’mon, Lottie. You know why.” He forces himself to look into her face, just to see her reaction. “I ain’t ever been soft with anyone like I am with you.”

Charlie blushes, to his surprise, and looks away from him. He can’t help but imagine she’s looking for a quick escape, an easy way to sneak away from him now that the words are out in the open. He wishes he never said them. 

“Cid,” she says, looking up at Meteor. 

“What?” he asks, after a silence that seems a little too long. 

“I’m sorry about the launch.” She’s very serious. “I never should have given you that order.”

In the face of a giant Meteor headed straight for the planet, Cid finds her previous actions very insignificant. For so long, the consequences of that failed launch have haunted him, have turned him into someone resentful and bitter and unable to move on, but now . . . it seems fucking stupid to dwell on something from nearly five years ago. 

The rocket launch won’t mean a fucking thing if he’s dead. 

_Either she knows damn well what she’s doing by apologizing right here and right now, or she’s genuinely sorry and wants me to know it because she thinks we’re gonna die._

A few months ago, he would have believed her to be lying. He would have believed Charlie to be using his humiliating confession to coax forgiveness from him, catching him at his most vulnerable. 

But now, he thinks her completely genuine. She’s done things he’s never expected from her—braved long journeys on foot with little resources, used her status to see to her friends’ needs before her own, actively worked alongside new friends to thwart her father’s company. 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” she adds, shrugging her shoulders shyly at him. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been waitin’ a long time to hear you say that, y’know?” he says, like a complete jackass. 

“It might surprise you, but I’m capable of feeling penitence.”

“Well . . . it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would, if it makes you feel any better.”

“I have to tell you something else.” Charlie bites down on her bottom lip. “Rufus was the one who sabotaged the launch. He ordered Avalanche to steal the oxygen tank.”

Cid stills, his entire body tensing, muscles clenched painfully tight. She looks so fucking guilty. “And you’ve known that for how long?” he asks, trying to keep his anger in check. 

“The day we were brought back to Junon, Rufus told me,” she confesses, and there’s something fearful about her, like she’s afraid he’s going to hit her. “I swear to you.”

His heart is beating fast. It makes him dizzy. “And what’d you say to him?”

“Nothing,” she answers flatly, “I spit in his face.” Charlie moves her face closer to his, so they’re mere inches away. “It was like this. And I spit in his face.”

The casual way she says it, almost proud of herself, douses the fiery rage that burns inside him. 

The image of Charlie spitting right in the president’s arrogant little face is enough to push him forward, to kiss her so hard that it nearly knocks her over. Cid catches her, bringing a hand up to the back of her head, her lips parting to breathe hope and love and life into him. 

Her hands are soft against his face, long fingers on his cheeks and thumbs against his chin, cradling his face like he’s fragile, like he’s worth touching, like he should be handled with care. 

Why shouldn’t he kiss her? They’ll all be dead in a few days. Why shouldn’t he spend these days allowing himself selfish indulgences? 

So caught up in his own goddamn personal conflicts, he pulls away from her, absolutely fucking humiliated. This isn’t what he came out here to do. He only came to make sure she was okay. He only came to get Barret off his fucking case. 

The quiet laughter that escapes her is breathless, and with the world coming to a stop in a few days, every free second not spent kissing her seems a second wasted. 

They shift awkwardly to better face each other, legs bent at uncomfortable angles against the hard roof, and her hands slip carefully underneath his jacket, coming to rest on his shoulders. There’s a sense of urgency to everything she does, whether it be kissing him or moving her hands across his upper body, and then—

And then she pulls away, mouth and hands, breathing hard and fast, cheeks pink. 

For a moment, Cid’s anger gets the better of him, but he’s not angry at _her_ , he’s angry at himself for falling for this bullshit again, for getting so caught up in a fucking dream. 

But once Charlie smiles shyly again, that anger is gone, and she takes hold of his right hand to pull off his glove. He blushes when her thumb swipes across his palm. “Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his clammy palm on the front of his jacket.

Her smile never falters, and she gives her head a shake, taking his hand back the moment it’s offered to her. Charlie puts his hand to her face, skin against skin, nuzzling into his palm and closing her eyes. 

Feeling bold, far bolder than he has any right to feel, Cid takes his other glove off and pulls her to her feet, standing underneath the stars and Meteor and the moon, two shadows on the top of a Shinra train. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking down at their hands, fingers twined together. 

He flushes head to toe, shrugging his shoulders instead of answering. Keeping one of her hands in his, trapped over his heart, he moves her right hand to his shoulder, his left hand resting on her waist. He misses that night they had spent together, and the things he had felt for her that he’d never felt for anyone else before. 

“I thought you didn’t dance, Captain,” she teases softly, cheeks pink. “Don’t you have a reputation to maintain?”

Cid smiles down at her. “Yeah, so don’t go tellin’ nobody. I’ll deny it.”

Charlie moves closer, resting her head against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against her forehead. That’s enough to spurn him further, wrapping his arm around her waist and burying his face in her hair, feeling the light pressure of her palm against the nape of his neck. 

He can’t say how long they stand there, hardly moving, holding each other instead of dancing properly, but when they return to the center of North Corel, Barret makes a jab about their prolonged absence, to which both Cid and Charlie reply: “Mind your own business.”


	62. Chapter 62

The story of their adventure in North Corel is far more exciting than anything else at the moment. 

It keeps them all occupied until the _Highwind_ lands just outside of Mideel, where they all disembark and become more solemn the closer they get to the clinic. Charlie and Cid lead the way, and he tries to keep her smiling by trying to guess how Tifa will react to their success in securing two pieces of Huge Materia. 

Unfortunately, the Huge Materia isn’t going to be worked organically into a conversation today, as Cloud hasn’t recovered in any capacity and is still incapable of speech, and Tifa’s mind is too preoccupied with Cloud’s status to worry much about anything else.

“I’m afraid he’s never going to recover,” Tifa tells the two of them quietly, eyes brimming with tears. “I still can’t understand a thing he’s saying, and I don’t even think he knows I’m here.”

“I’m sure he knows,” Charlie reassures her. “I’m sure he knows what you’re doing for him.”

Tifa’s eyes linger awkwardly on Cid for a moment before she looks back to Charlie, lowering her voice and speaking deadly seriously. “I would do _anything_ for him, Charlie.”

She only blinks in return, feeling able to finally connect with Tifa on some level about _something._ She thinks of Reeve, of the lengths she would go to for him. “I know.”

Predictably, the doctor doesn’t have any good news for them. They’re still feeding and hydrating him through machines and tubes to keep him healthy, he’s unable to walk, unable to communicate his needs verbally or physically and, in confidence, the doctor admits to a degree of concern in regards to Tifa, as well. 

“She hardly sleeps, hardly eats,” he whispers, as the nurse beside him nods slowly. “All she does is sit with him all day, trying to get him to answer her. She’s unwilling to come to terms with . . .”

“Don’t finish that sentence, doc,” Cid finishes for him, a bite to his tone. “Cloud’s a tough kid. He’s gonna pull through this. He’s gotta. He’s . . .” A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he glances at Charlie, who gives him a small nod. “He’s gonna be all right.”

They make to say good-bye to Tifa again, prepared to send the next group of their friends in to visit, but there’s a loud rumble and crash that sets the entire building to shaking violently, sending both Tifa and Charlie stumbling to the ground as Cid braces himself against one of the beds. Cloud’s wheelchair rolls backwards, right into Cid’s leg. 

“What the hell was that?” Charlie shouts, the noise growing louder, the building shaking and shaking and shaking until it seems likely to collapse on them. 

“They’re . . .” Cloud croaks, in a voice very unlike his own. “They’re . . . coming . . .”

Cid scoffs, reaching down to help Charlie to her feet. “Did he just say somethin’?”

Tifa clings to Cloud’s wheelchair, imploring him to speak again, to tell them what’s happening, but he only gurgles and moans, like he hadn’t spoken at all. His head falls forward as he takes a few rasping breaths. 

“Tifa, stay here with the kid!” Cid orders her, grabbing Charlie’s elbow and forcing her towards the door of Cloud’s room. “We’ll go check it out and be right back!” 

The two of them make their way out of the clinic, relying on the walls to keep them on their feet, their weapons drawn and prepped for use. The village is already partially succumbing to the sudden earthquake, wooden roofs collapsing and the ground splitting to reveal the glow of the Lifestream underneath the broken earth, spurting up like geysers and fountains. 

Before they can reach their friends, all hurrying towards the clinic from the village entrance, there’s a horrible screeching sound that seems to penetrate Charlie’s very soul. With her gun still in her hand, she covers her ears as something cries out from on high, and it only occurs to her _what_ is screaming when she sees the massive shadow that passes over her and Cid.

“Oh, shit! This is bad, Lottie! This is _real_ bad!”

She looks up to see it flying overhead, thirty times (or more) the size of the _Highwind_ , circling Mideel like a vulture circling its prey, as if it’s fully aware they’re here and looking for a fight.

“Cid! What’s going on?”

Charlie turns to see Tifa poking her head out of the clinic, looking up at the sky and around at the Lifestream that pulses into the village with a fierce current that seems impossible. “Get back inside, Tifa, and stay there!” Cid yells at her. 

“But I can help!” Tifa yells back, looking around anxiously, holding herself up against the doorframe. 

“Don’t worry!” Cid smiles reassuringly at her, but Charlie knows him better than that. He’s afraid, but he’ll be damned if he shows it. “You look after Cloud. Don’t worry ‘bout us! We’ll take care of this!”

Tifa retreats back inside the clinic after a lingering look at both Cid and Charlie. He inhales deep, looking back up at the Weapon that’s circling the small village. The remaining structures surely won’t survive the encounter should the monster land and start attacking. 

“Okay,” he tells himself, nodding, shaking out his arms and rolling his neck. “I got this!” Taking hold of Charlie’s hand, Cid pulls her along towards their friends, meeting them in the center of the village by a completely leveled building. Everyone looks ready for a fight, and Charlie swallows the fear (or bile) that builds up in her throat, threatening to spill all over the ground. 

“Picked a bad time to show, didn’t it?” Barret groans, slipping a dark pair of sunglasses onto his face as he looks up towards the sky. 

“We’ll just have to beat it back,” Cid says, turning to face Charlie. “Cait, take Lottie back to the ship. We’ll meet you both there.”

Cait Sith wastes no time in hopping to Charlie’s side, the moogle’s arm slipping around her waist and trying to pull her away. “Wait!” she protests, breaking free of the toy’s arm and moving clumsily towards Cid again. He catches her as she falls against his chest. “I want to fight, too!”

“This ain’t ‘bout your fightin’ skills, honey,” he answers with a small smile. “It’s ‘bout me bein’ selfish and not wantin’ you to get hurt. Now go on! I’ll be right behind you!”

Charlie can’t help but feel a little foolish, standing among them all with nothing but a gun. At least Vincent has the ability to shapeshift into powerful creatures if his gun doesn’t work against Weapon. “Okay,” she whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear her plea, “be careful.”

“I’m always careful, baby.” He kisses her quick on the mouth in full view of everyone, leaving her a blushing mess. “We’ll catch up, okay?”

“Oh, _gross!_ ” Yuffie says, gagging very dramatically and ruining whatever moment they’ve found together in the chaos.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” Cid repeats, grabbing hold of her upper arm and giving her a slight shake after she fails to answer right away. 

Charlie nods, pushing away from him and following Cait Sith away from the rest of their companions. It feels wrong, rushing back towards the airship without them, leaving them all behind. They should have brought Tifa and Cloud with them, to keep them safe. They should have evacuated the village or helped fight Weapon back. 

“So that’s how it is, is it?” Cait Sith asks her coldly, the both of them hurrying down the dirt pathway that will lead them through the surrounding foliage and back towards the ship. “You and the pilot?”

“That pilot has a name, thank you very much,” she spits back, unsure why she’s taking all her anger out on him. She should be apologetic and sorry, not throwing it in his face. “And Cid didn’t keep a pretty important secret from me for years, nor did he spy on me.” Charlie glances over her shoulder again, slowing down. “We have to go back.”

“They’ll take care of it—”

“Reeve—”

“ _Charlotte_ —”

“We should at least help the townspeople.” Charlie grabs onto the moogle, stopping it in its tracks. The cat whirls around to face her. “There’s not going to be anything left of Mideel by the time Weapon finishes with it.”

He doesn’t need much convincing. “Okay, okay, you’re right.” 

“Come on. It’ll be quicker this way, and your moogle can lead the people to the ship.” Charlie takes Cait Sith’s hand and helps him onto her shoulders, his little legs resting against her chest and his hands holding gently onto either side of her head. 

Free of the moogle, Charlie pushes herself to sprint back towards Mideel, the ground still quaking beneath her feet. Once, her progress is blocked by the Lifestream gushing up from a crack in the ground, but she cuts through the foliage, hurrying towards the sounds of screams and shouts and gunshots. 

“We are _not_ done talking about Cid,” Cait Sith hisses in her ear.

“I’m not talking about this with you through this _thing_ ,” she spits back at him, panting and aching. “And there’s nothing to talk about anyway!”

“He just kissed you like it was nothing! Like you’d done it before!” His accented voice is shrill. 

“You’re more than welcome to kiss other people, too, you know!”

Cait Sith lets out a small bark of mocking laughter that cuts deep. Charlie jaw clenches, the thought of Reeve kissing anyone else too painful to imagine. “Not only is that the last thing I have on my mind right now, but I find it _very_ hard to believe that you would be completely fine with—”

“I told you, we’re not talking about this through Cait Sith!”

There’s another painful scream that rents the air and a thunderous _crash!_ that causes the ground to open up again. As the land shifts beneath her feet, it throws her backwards, sending Cait Sith sprawling to the ground with her, rolling a few feet away. 

She groans, holding a hand to the back of her head, feeling dizzy. Cait Sith’s hand touches her arm, trying to pull her up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. Her knees are bloodied, but the adrenaline keeps her from feeling any pain. “I think so.” Charlie sighs, helping the cat back up onto her shoulders. “All right, let’s go.”

Weapon has landed by the time Charlie and Cait Sith make it back to the village, distracted by the fight their friends are putting up. She’s almost afraid to look, afraid that she’ll see them all bleeding and bruised, on the verge of defeat. 

But she knows that she shouldn’t doubt them. She’s seen them in the heat of battle before, and they’re all fearless and graceful, having fought together long enough to become accustomed to each other, exploiting weaknesses and adhering to some sort of unspoken and established strategy. 

Charlie looks. 

Cid is quick and light on his feet, dancing around its legs as it stomps all over, crushing fences and destroying the ground around them. There’s a shallow cut on his cheek, and she’s unable to see if he has other injuries underneath his clothes, but she’s certain there will be many aches and pains and bruises later. 

With Cait Sith shouting orders through his megaphone, standing on Charlie’s shoulders, they’re able to easily begin evacuation amongst the locals, pleading with them to seek refuge on the _Highwind._ It would be an easy task, if the locals weren’t all so incredibly stubborn and frustrating, the majority of them refusing to leave at all, willing to go down with their little community. 

“Goddamn it, Lottie!” Cid shouts at her as she attempts to run past Weapon and towards the clinic. “I thought I told you to beat it!”

“Oh, that’s charming,” Cait Sith remarks quietly. “You’ve picked yourself a real winner, Charlie.”

“I don’t need this from you right now,” she snaps, flashing Cid an apologetic look as she ducks underneath Weapon’s long and thick tail, which promptly smashes into the side of a building, razing it to the ground within seconds. “At least Cid doesn’t treat me like a little girl.”

“No, he doesn’t,” the cat continues, his harsh tone at odds with the gentle way he touches her head. “You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that—”

“Gods, just stop alread—” The ground quakes again, sending shockwaves up her legs and sending her to the ground again, but after a few seconds, everything begins to calm again. In fact, Weapon is pushing off the ground completely, batting its giant wings and screaming as it circles the village once more, circling its prey. 

“Is it running away?” Cait Sith asks, still clinging to her neck and looking up as Weapon’s silhouette grows smaller and smaller in the face of Meteor, the higher up it goes. “Is it leaving?”

“I just ran all the way back here for nothing,” she pouts, standing up and putting a hand on her hip, still attempting to catch her breath from all the running she’s just done. Her thighs are burning with stress. 

“Not for nothing,” he reassures her, giving the back of her head a playful swat. “You came back to help others, risking your own life in the process.”

“Don’t try to get on my good side now,” she chides him, catching sight of Cid and the others and making towards them. 

The first thing Cid does as she approaches is puff his chest out, putting his hands on his hips. “Did you see me in action?” he asks, ignoring Cait Sith wrapped around her shoulders, but the cat quickly slides down and excuses himself from their conversation. “What’d you think?”

Charlie smiles, shaking her head. “So brave,” she replies, making him grin toothily. “Just so you know, there may be several confused townspeople on our airship when we get back.”

Cid tilts his head back and groans, but he sounds more amused than upset about it. “What’d you send ‘em there for?”

“You’ll be the local hero, you know,” Charlie reminds him. “They’ll always remember that Cid Highwind offered them ref— _oh, Gods!_ ”

He stares down at her, wide-eyed and bewildered. “What?”

“You’re hurt!” With his jacket shifted slightly out of the way, Charlie is able to get a better glimpse underneath. On his right side, his t-shirt is torn and he’s bleeding through it from a deep scratch wound. “Oh, Cid . . . oh, you don’t feel that?”

“No,” he admits quickly. “My heart’s beatin’ like a motherfucker. I won’t feel it for a while.”

“Well . . . let’s get you to the clinic, at least, and have it taken care of.” Charlie cringes at the sight of it, but tries her hardest not to look worried in front of him. His face is a little pale, but he seems all right. “Let’s go. The others can take care of the locals.”

Before she can take another step, the ground begins to shake again, causing everyone to curse and shout, grabbing onto each other and whatever is closest to keep their balance. 

“Damn!” Cid rasps, digging his fingertips into Charlie’s forearm. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” He looks around him to check for their friends. “We gotta get outta here! The main stream’s gonna blow any second!” 

“We can’t just leave Tifa and Cloud behind!” Charlie tries to pull herself free of Cid’s grip, but the moment he releases her, he drops to his knees, hissing in pain as his hand jumps to his injured side. “You go, Cid. I’ll go get them—”

“No, you ain’t goin’ anywhere but back to the _Highwind_ —”

“But Cid—”

“Tifa’ll take care of Cloud, don’t you worry ‘bout that.” Cid gets slowly to his feet, his shirt damp with fresh blood. 

“Hey, let’s go already!” Yuffie calls to them, waving an arm around to get her attention. 

“Cid, we can’t just _leave_ them—”

“We ain’t got time!” He takes her by the hand, holding onto her so tightly that there will be no escape. 

She’s forced to follow him out of the village as the Lifestream breaks through the previously solid ground, leaving Cloud and Tifa to go down with the rest of the village. 

* * *

“The train from North Corel never reached the station outside Rocket Town,” Scarlet reports with a scowl, tapping her long fingernails atop the table. It drives him crazy, _tap tap tap tap tap tap tap_ ringing in his head. “And none of the infantrymen have responded to our inquiries.”

“And the rebels at Fort Condor were able to fight back the men I sent to collect the Huge Materia,” Heidegger adds roughly. “It seems they were supplied with last minute resources. It would have taken a small fortune to outfit those men the way they were.”

Rufus’s eyes snap to Reeve, who’s been unusually quiet. If the director is guilty of anything, he hides it very well, his expression blank and his nose still bruised and crooked. “Are you two capable of doing anything right?” he snaps, more concerned with the incompetent directors seated around him, not to say anything of Palmer, who cowers in his chair. “I should have gotten rid of the both of you the moment I assumed my father’s position.”

Heidegger lowers his head in shame, but Scarlet is bolder. “We still have the Huge Materia from Nibelheim, and the Huge Materia in the underwater reactor will be loaded onto the submarine for transport in a few hours. The process is almost finished.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that things on _my_ end are going quite smoothly, Mr. President!” Palmer says suddenly, looking very pleased with himself, if not a little sweaty. “Much of the . . . _lovely_ vice president’s crew agreed to return to work, and preparations are currently being made.”

There’s a massive bruise on the side of the fat man’s face. Palmer had come to him crying about it a few days ago, complaining that Reeve had done it. That had been enough to set Rufus to laughing, right in Palmer’s face. Even when Palmer had asked about consequences or punishment, Rufus had continued to laugh until he was alone in his office again.

“I don’t trust either of you to complete these tasks,” Rufus tells them bluntly, sighing as he turns to his right, where Reno is. “Reno, you’ll leave immediately for Junon following this meeting.” He then turns to his left. “And Rude, you’ll make Rocket Town.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What of the cannon?” Rufus asks, reaching a hand down to pet Dark Nation, on the floor at his feet. 

“We’re having it flown in, so it will need some time to be reassembled here,” Scarlet tells him, baring her teeth in a menacing smile. Rufus is too accustomed to her personality to ever fall for that. “But there have been no issues, Mr. President.”

“Good.” He stands, and his directors stand with him. “If there’s nothing else, I hope I can rely on you all to do better this time around. Take that how you will.”

“If I may, sir . . .” Scarlet stops him from leaving, and the entire room goes deadly quiet. Perhaps they recognize that Rufus isn’t in the mood to be challenged on everything. “I just want to voice my concerns about the rocket. It didn’t launch before, so can we trust it to launch now? It would be a shame if it took out the town before breaching space.”

He doesn’t quite know what possesses him then, but no one stops him. Rufus reaches out with a quick hand, wrapping long fingers around Scarlet’s neck until she begins to squirm, long-nails scratching light at his wrist and hand. 

“My sister designed and helped build that rocket,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “And I am _confident_ in my sister’s work. But if you’re so concerned about it—” Rufus squeezes tighter until she opens her mouth to gasp for air—“then why don’t you build your own goddamn rocket?”

All of the other directors choose to avert their eyes—well, Palmer and Heidegger, that is. Reeve meets his eyes with an unexpected boldness from him, and Rufus falters.

He releases Scarlet with a shove, leaving her breathless and holding her throat as Heidegger and Palmer swarm her. Reeve remains at the far end of the table, silently watching on. 

“Get out,” he orders them, wanting to strangle them all one-by-one. “All of you. This meeting is over.”

* * *

By the time they make it back to the _Highwind_ , the tremors have ceased for good. 

The airship is packed with frightened villagers, who all insist on returning to Mideel to inspect the damages. They all refuse Charlie’s offer to bring them to the nearest town, and once it’s deemed safe enough, they all begin the journey back to their village with a few genuine words of thanks. 

Charlie fusses over his wound, but Cid doesn’t mind, nor does he stop her when he thinks she’s being a little overbearing. She forces him into the _Highwind_ ’s medical bay and tells him to take off his jacket. He knows an order when he hears one and complies immediately, shrugging out of it a little too eagerly. Unable to lift his right arm over his head, Charlie helps him out of his t-shirt, and then removes the sleeveless undershirt that’s turned partially red with his blood. 

“Lie down,” she commands him quietly, gesturing towards the nearest empty bed. 

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” he murmurs, doing as she says. 

Her fingertips warm his skin, making his flesh burn wherever she touches. The closer she gets to the wound, the gentler her touch is, but her fingers linger on the hard muscle of his stomach, the faded scars that he had earned himself years ago, brushing lightly over the thatch of hair that begins below his navel and travels south. 

It all _feels_ like it takes a lot longer than it does, partly because he’s so focused on not making himself look like a jackass and getting hard right in front of her face, but it would be her own damn fault for touching him so sweetly. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Thankfully, Charlie pulls away before he loses all self-control, retreating for a few seconds and coming back with a professional-looking first-aid kit, a pack of his cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and an apologetic expression on her face. 

He takes a few long swallows of the alcohol before Charlie holds out a cigarette for it, balanced perfectly between her long fingers. Cid moves his head up off the pillow to catch it in his mouth, but she pulls it away, smiling. “C’mon, honey, don’t tease me,” he frowns, his head buzzing for just a drag. 

Charlie smiles, kissing him once before shoving the cigarette between his own slightly parted lips. 

“No, no, no,” he protests, the filter of his cigarette sticking to his bottom lip as she flicks the lighter. “Come back.”

Charlie adjusts his cigarette, lights it for him, and opens the first-aid kid. “I can get Vincent, if you’d like. He’ll probably be able to heal most of this with magic.” Something in her face flickers, like disappointment. “I’m no good with materia. You know that.”

Cid grimaces, puffing along on his smoke. Every second they prolong this, his side hurts worse and worse, and the pain is making him sweat against the cotton sheets, making his skin glisten. Vincent could probably patch the whole thing up within seconds, and there would be a nasty scar left behind, but Cid doesn’t care much about looking pretty. 

_Fuck me_ , he thinks to himself, knowing that having Charlie stitch him up is going to hurt something fucking terrible, but knowing that she’ll be disappointed and possibly offended if he asks someone else to take care of him. Besides, he doesn’t really want anyone else to take care of him. He wouldn’t mind her hands on him a little longer. 

“Get my bag,” he tells her, and Charlie stoops to grab the bag at the foot of the bed. “Get the healing materia outta there.”

“Oh, Cid, I can’t—” She blushes furiously, retrieving the green materia from within and holding it in her palm. “I don’t know how to use this. Let me get—”

“Get the bag, baby—”

“No, I don’t know how—”

“Just try. I’m shit at it, too. Don’t worry.”

Charlie pauses, looking down at the materia and slowly lowering herself to the bed again, seated at his right side. She holds the materia tight in her right hand, placing her shaking left hand over the wound, just like she’s watched the others do. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Despite the dull pain in his side, Cid takes her left hand in his own, meeting her eyes. She’s afraid, but he isn’t sure what she’s afraid _of._ “It’s okay. It’s not like your gonna hurt me if it doesn’t work. What’re you shakin’ for?”

“I guess I just . . .” She trails off awkwardly, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” Charlie pulls her hand away, placing it gently back over the open wound in his side and biting down on her lower lip and closing her eyes. 

Cid watches the materia for a moment. It does nothing, and his injury doesn’t seem to be getting any better, despite the obvious way that she’s trying to channel _something._

And then, her face twists and contorts painfully for a few seconds before suddenly changing again into something so calm and peaceful that she could be sleeping. 

She exhales softly, slowing her shaky breathing, and that’s when he feels it—warmth seeping from her fingers and palm and into his skin, into his soul, into his very being, stretching his skin further than it should be allowed as it knits together, the muscle and flesh both. The materia glows bright in her hand, glowing and pulsing as the magic is transferred to her in some fucking unexplainable way. 

He nearly drops his cigarette when she lifts her hand to reveal the results. She looks exhausted, and there’s sweat beading at her hairline, and it seems as if the materia has drained everything from her, but she smiles incredulously down at her work. 

There’s still a scar there, puffy and irritated, but he isn’t bleeding anymore. 

“You did it,” he says, watching the blood rush back to her cheeks. “I knew you could.”

Charlie smiles shyly at him, catching her lip between her teeth again. “You make me feel like I could do anything.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard any woman say anything remotely close to that before. It makes him feel good, like he’s finally doing something right for once in his shitty fucking life. “Come here,” he begs hoarsely. “Just for a second. Please.”

When did he get so fucking sentimental? Since when did he care what women thought of him? Since when did holding a woman ever become preferable to fucking one?

Regardless, Charlie sets a knee on either side of him, leaning forward to put their chests together. Cid wraps his arms around her, the both of them nuzzling into each other’s necks and faces. Her cheeks feel wet against his skin, but he doesn’t say anything, as she tries very hard to hide it. 

Sure, the world might end tomorrow, or the world might end in a week, or maybe the world might never end and life will go on as it always has and they’ll go back to their normal lives and back to Shera and back to Reeve and back to Rocket Town and Midgar. 

But the stolen moments, such as these, make up for it all. In the near five years since the launch, he’s forgotten how to live for something, wandering aimlessly through life without ever feeling passion or love. 

Lottie’s given him something she could never give anyone else, not even the fucking bastard she was going to marry, and that’s enough for him. 

* * *

There’s not much left of Mideel when they return as a group. The Lifestream has completely sunk the town, the planks and materials that once were part of the buildings now float atop the glowing current of the Lifestream, and while there is no possible way to search for survivors within, they do find Cloud and Tifa washed up onto the muddy ground. 

It isn’t long before they’re both stirring, and Charlie fears the worst when she hears Tifa groaning and mumbling, afraid that the Lifestream has poisoned her mind just as it poisoned Cloud’s. She touches Tifa’s arm as she goes to sit up, looking around her. 

Charlie, Barret, and Vincent are all hovering over her, probably not the best way to wake her, but they’re concerned. Tifa seems surprised to see them, but not displeased in the slightest. In fact, a small and wavery little smile crosses her face at the sight of her friends, even the ones huddled around Cloud.

“You all . . . came back?” she asks, looking around at the destruction that Weapon and the Lifestream have left in their wake. “And Cloud?”

“He’s here,” Barret tells her, putting a hand on her thin shoulder and jerking his head towards Cloud, whose body is hidden behind Cid and Cait Sith’s bodies. “Don’t worry. How’re you feelin’?”

Tifa puts a hand to her forehead, pushing her wet hair out of her face. Charlie reaches out hesitantly, wanting to offer her some comfort, as a way of apology for not returning right away for them. Embarrassed, she moves Tifa’s thick hair off her shoulders, combing it back out of her face, and Tifa doesn’t protest. 

“When I was in the Lifestream . . . I saw the real Cloud,” she explains softly, eyebrows furrowing together. “And I think Cloud found himself, as well.”

“I ain’t ever doubted him for a second,” Barret admits, and even Tifa lifts an eyebrow at him in addition to the exasperated looks given to him by Charlie and Vincent. “All right, all right. I shouldn’t have doubted him at all.”

When Charlie lets go of Tifa’s hair, the girl lies back on the broken planks and dry land, closing her eyes as the sun beats down upon her face. “People have so many things pent up inside of themselves,” she sighs, “and they can forget so many things . . . strange, isn’t it?”

Charlie frowns, looking over her shoulder at Cid and Cait Sith again. _Strange,_ she thinks to herself, remembering all the things she wanted so badly to forget, remembering the things she _did_ forget, thinking of all the things she ever wanted to say to Reeve, but was too afraid to say them outloud. 

_Strange._

* * *

“Everyone . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to you all, but there it is.”

“Don’t apologize, Cloud,” Nanaki tells him, accompanied by several agreeable nods from their friends. “All you’ve been doing lately is apologizing.”

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” Charlie says from one of the chairs around the long conference table. She’s been busy looking at something on the wall that looks suspiciously like blood, but it’s pushed from her mind when Cloud goes to apologize again. “I should have told you the truth, about what I knew and what I found out. That wasn’t right of me to hide it from you, and I’m sorry.”

“Can you say that last part a little louder, Shinra?” Barret teases from across the table, chuckling to himself. “I wanna make sure they hear that apology all the way in Midgar.”

Charlie snorts, quieting again as Cloud sighs heavily from the front of the room. “It’s okay, Charlie. I know I was never in SOLDIER now. I left Nibelheim hoping to become a hero, but I never made it, and I was so ashamed of how weak I was . . . all the stories I told you about what happened five years ago, were Zack’s stories . . . my friend.”

“Who the hell is Zack?” Cid asks, his feet propped up on the mahogany table, smoking a cigarette. He turns to Charlie for an answer. 

“He was a SOLDIER First Class,” she tells him. “He left for a mission five years ago and never came back. His file was destroyed, which indicates misconduct.”

“Hojo used Zack and I for experiments in the Shinra Mansion after he found us in the reactor following Sephiroth’s . . . defeat.” Cloud looks down at his hands, as if hoping to find more answers written in his palms. “He tried to make Sephiroth clones out of us, injected me with Jenova cells and showered me with mako. So, physically, I’m built just like a SOLDIER.” 

It makes Charlie sick to her stomach. She thinks of Angeal and Genesis and Sephiroth, and the way Jenova had slowly twisted them into believing horrible things. She thinks of Hojo, and the delight he took in using humans for his experiments. She thinks of Zack, wondering if he thought of Aerith at all while he was captured. 

He looks back up at his friends, eyes glowing bright blue. “I’m Cloud . . . the master of my own illusionary world. But I’m going to live my life without pretending now.”

“Well . . .” Cait Sith shifts anxiously atop the moogle. “You’re not gonna leave now, are you, Cloud? You’re gonna stay, aren’t you?”

Cloud thinks for a minute. “I’m the reason that Meteor was summoned, so it’s up to me to do everything in my power to stop it.”

“So that means you’re gonna keep fightin’ to save the planet, right?” Barret asks quickly, slamming his palm down upon the table so hard that it rattles. Both Charlie and Cid scold him quietly for almost damaging their ship. 

“It’s just like you say, Barret,” Cloud smiles.

Barret scoffs, looking uncomfortable under everyone’s gazes. “What do I say?” 

Everyone else seems to know what Barret proudly says all the time, and in nine different voices, the same words roll off all nine tongues: “There ain’t no gettin’ offa this train we’re on!”

Barret slams his hand down on the table once again, but no one chides him this time. Charlie can’t help but cheer along with everyone else, determined to fight Meteor with her new friends and family, determined to avenge her fallen allies and save potential future ones. 

“The last Huge Materia’s gonna be at the underwater reactor in Junon,” Cait Sith explains, “so we’ve gotta be careful. There’s gonna be a lot of security keeping watch. Once they get it on the submarine, they plan on takin’ it to Rocket Town.”

Cid’s face suddenly drains of all color. He sits up very slowly, as if rising from a deep sleep. “What’re they gonna do to Rocket Town?”

“How else do you think they plan on blowin’ up Meteor?”

Charlie and Cid look at each other, both of them with the same expression—outrage, bewilderment. “They’re going to use the rocket,” she says, just to him, like they’re the only people in the room. 

“That’s it!” It’s Cid’s turn to slam a fist down on the table. “We gotta stop ‘em! That’s my rocket!”

“ _My_ rocket,” Charlie corrects him. 

“ _Our_ rocket, actually, and I ain’t lettin’ those bastards take it away from me like they did everything else!”

He looks hopefully at Charlie, but she’s unsure. She doesn’t want to say that it might be a good idea to just let the rocket go. It’s not like they’ll ever get the chance to properly launch it the way it was meant to. 

“Oh, Lottie, _come on!_ ” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. He knows her far better than she cares to admit sometimes, and she blushes. “Think about how much that rocket meant to us. All those fuckin’ nights we spent porin’ over those plans, all the work we put into it. You’re just gonna give up on it like that? That rocket meant the fuckin’ world to you.” Looking as if he’s going to regret what comes out of his mouth next, he adds, “Now it’s our job to keep your dumbass brother from fuckin’ the whole thing up again.”

Charlie looks around at her friends, uncomfortable with the attention. It’s an odd feeling, to want people to look away from her. “I don’t know, Cid.”

“C’mon, baby. It should be you and me stoppin’ that thing. It should be you and me on that goddamn rocket, just like it should’a been all those years ago. We can do it, Lottie, you and me.”

“Okay,” she answers breathlessly, “okay, we’ll stop the rocket.”

Cid claps his hands together, trying to stifle the smile that finds its way to his flushed face. 

As they all hurry out of the Operation’s Room, Charlie lingers, watching Cloud for a moment as he stretches and psyches himself up with some breathing exercises that make her giggle. The sound of her laughter causes Cloud to whirl around. 

“You’re coming with us, right?” he asks her. 

“If you’ll have me,” she replies. Cloud gives her a firm nod, and she inclines her head in thanks. “Listen, Cloud, I really am sorry. After what happened in the buggy that one night, when I asked about your sword—”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know now. The sword was Zack’s, wasn’t it?”

Charlie clears her throat, stepping a little closer to him in the hopes of keeping her voice down. “It was,” she admits, “but before it was Zack’s, it belonged to another SOLDIER First Class, one I loved very much.” And then, feeling as if he’s owed a little more than that, she adds, “He died in Modeoheim, where he passed on the sword to Zack.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, realization washing over him. “Well, when we’re done here, we can go back to Modeoheim, if you’d like.”

“You know . . . I think I’m okay,” she says, and it’s the truth. “I think I got what I needed from Modeoheim already.”

* * *

It’s decided that Charlie and Cait Sith are to stay behind on the _Highwind_ , given that being recognized by someone in Junon will certainly make things far more difficult. 

Cloud goes ahead with Barret and Tifa, sneaking in through Under Junon to reach the underwater reactor while everyone else is left waiting anxiously aboard the airship. Fortunately, this means that Charlie is able to spend more time with Cid as they circle around Junon in the _Highwind_ , keeping an eye out for Cloud and the others. 

Cid is anxious to get going, to return to Rocket Town and stop her brother from sending the Shinra No. 26 to its probable demise. Charlie can’t help but think that Rufus has picked a horrible time to have faith in her engineering skills, but she can’t say she isn’t flattered by the idea. 

“Think they’re almost done?” he asks her no less than eight times, pacing the deck of the _Highwind._

“Be patient,” she assures him, flashing him a small smile. “Cait Sith said that the rocket isn’t going to launch until tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck, might as well send Shera up there to sabotage the whole goddamn thing. At least she could buy us a little bit of time with how fuckin’ slow she’s always movin’.”

Charlie turns her back on him, having forgotten about Shera. She had completely forgotten about the fact that Cid has another woman waiting for him in Rocket Town, a woman that already lives in his house. 

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you again,” she says coldly, and Cid doesn’t miss that fact, stepping up next to her and trying to push her hair back out of her face as the wind whips it around. Charlie jerks away from him. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, hasn’t it?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, not wanting to hear what he has to say, Charlie makes for the door that will lead back inside, but Cid catches her by the arm and tugs her towards him. “Why don’t you just say what the fuck you mean instead of playin’ mind games with me, huh?”

“I think my meaning was very clear, thank you.”

“I never fucked Shera, if that’s what you’re askin’, and if I did, I don’t think you’ve got much room to talk. How long ago was it that you were engaged? Flauntin’ that fuckin’ ring around in front of my face?”

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Stop bein’ a jealous little brat, Lottie. You know I don’t wanna sleep with her.”

“Oh? I’m expected to just _know_ that?” she retorts, scowling up at him as she attempts to break free of his strong grip. 

“Yeah, ‘cause I wanna sleep with you.”

Charlie feels her cheeks suddenly burn, her entire body flaming hot. She stops struggling against him, blushing harder when he cocks an eyebrow at her. Struggling for speech, he finally releases her and she stumbles backwards a few steps. 

“You don’t want to—” Her throat feels so constricted that it’s painful. “You don’t want to—you’re not going to want to—oh, Cid, you don’t want to sleep with me.”

“Why? ‘Cause you slept with your brother?”

She doesn’t think it’s possible to be any more embarrassed than she is right now. “I never had sex with Rufus.”

“Okay. I believe you. Doesn’t change my mind, though.”

Charlie thinks it might be a joke for a moment, but he doesn’t laugh, and there’s no punchline. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not jokin’. Do you see me laughin’?” He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. “Wanted to sleep with you since I first met you.”

She looks away from him, pushing herself away. “Please stop.”

“Okay. I said my piece and now I’m done.” Cid holds his hands up in surrender, looking apologetic enough. “So go run away or whatever the hell you’re gonna do. And if you don’t wanna save the fuckin’ rocket with me, then fine, I’ll do it myself.” His voice has turned cold and bitter. 

Charlie suddenly feels very guilty, despite knowing she shouldn’t. But it’s partially her fault for continually leading him on, especially with their little display in the medical bay earlier, and then allowing herself to be frightened away at the slightest implication of things becoming very real. 

He doesn’t deserve that, but it scares her, and if Cid knew the things she’s done with Rufus ( _except_ sleeping with him, for that was definitely the truth), he would be disgusted with her, seeing her as tainted and defiled and used. 

But if she’s being honest with herself, she would like very much to sleep with Cid, too. The thought of her possibly permanently damaged relationship with Reeve weighs heavily on her, however, as she does love Reeve very, very much. But he had lied to her, betrayed her, kept secrets from her. 

Charlie can’t bear to stand here any longer, humiliated, but she doesn’t want to give Cid the impression she’s inherently running away, not wanting him to think that door is closed to him forever. 

So she moves closer to him and stands on her toes, kissing him softly upon the lips. His lips are chapped, and he tastes of coffee and cigarettes. She still tastes it on her own lips when she breaks apart from him. 

And _then_ she runs away. 

* * *

There’s one night left before Rufus’s plan is put into action, though there will only be one Huge Materia on board the Shinra No. 26, given that Avalanche had intercepted the rest of it. 

It’s been a long night, and by the time Reeve pulls the car up to the front of the house in Kalm, with both Elmyra and Marlene fast asleep, he’s ready to collapse on the front step and sleep for days. 

He had followed through on his promise to Marlene (having arrived late, of course, after his meeting with Rufus and the other executives), but that promise had come with strings attached. He spent most of that time in the car, feigning a meeting as he directed Cait Sith and spoke to Charlie through him, or trying to place phone calls to the president (who hadn’t answered once, and ignored the texts that Reeve had sent) to find out what the _hell_ he’s planning with Junon’s trademark cannon (he hadn’t wanted to waste any more time in Midgar than necessary and didn’t want to appear uninformed in front of Scarlet and Heidegger). 

But once Cloud, Barret, and Tifa had gone down to the underwater reactor, he was given a little bit of breathing room. 

Marlene had been upset with him for most of the trip, and Elmyra scolded him a few times for hiding away to work and urging him to reevaluate his priorities (which was funny, considering they aren’t _his_ family), but if she understood what exactly he was doing, Reeve thinks she might have had a bit more sympathy for him. 

He knows, of course, why Elmyra is on edge. She had confided in him only this morning her fears of Marlene’s father never making it home, fearful that Meteor will collide with the planet before Barret gets a chance to be with his daughter again. 

The moment he turns the car off, he sighs heavily, leaning back on the headrest and glancing up in the rearview mirror at Marlene, her head tilted at an awkward angle to rest upon the window. Her hair is still wet, and she’s wearing a new dress with bright pink flowers all over it. 

“Just like the flower girl,” she had said when they saw it in a shop window. 

Marlene either feigns sleep very well or is dead to the world. He has to open the door very carefully to keep her from tilting over, and even when Elmyra shuts the door loudly, the girl still doesn’t wake. 

“You’re killing me, Marlene,” he sighs, unbuckling her and lifting her with ease out of the car, carrying her and all of their things on his shoulders and in his arms, dropping most of them when he enters the house. 

Elmyra gives Marlene’s hair and pat and kisses the top of her head before Reeve starts up the stairs with her, briefly wondering how his life has come to this, pretending to be some temporary pseudo-father of a girl he pities while her real father is ( _dead_ , he reminds himself) drinking with his friends to congratulate their success within the underwater reactor. 

_We’re all lonely,_ he thinks, _and we’re all missing someone._

Reeve sets her down in bed, takes her shoes off and covers her up, makes for the door. He’s done this before, sometimes reading her a few books before bed if he has the time, sometimes carrying her upstairs after she falls asleep on the sofa downstairs watching TV, all while he works in silence beside her. 

As he goes to close the door, he hesitates, watching Marlene shift underneath the blankets and start snoring softly. 

He wouldn’t mind having a family. He and Charlie were always so busy with work and special projects that they never really spent time together like a family should. They never went on vacations together. They never spent entire days lazing around in bed. They rarely ever spoke of children, or cooked dinner with each other, or took time to just enjoy each other’s company. 

Everything always seemed so rushed and urgent, like the moment would be over any second, like they never knew when the next moment would arrive. 

Reeve closes the door to Marlene’s bedroom, running a hand through his damp hair and itching to wash off the lake water smell that seems to cling to his skin. He hadn’t wanted to go in, but he owed it to Marlene after ignoring her for the better part of the day. 

Perhaps the last chance at a real family of his own has passed him by. Charlie is in love with her pilot now, the pilot with a name _thank you very much_ , and must surely hate him for keeping Veld a secret, for keeping Tseng a secret. 

It may not even matter in a few days anyway. If Meteor hits, then nothing will.


	63. Chapter 63

Rocket Town is busy. 

People have come out of their houses and spilled into the streets in order to better view the rocket, which is being prepared for the launch. The streets are packed with spectators, and people call Cid’s name as he passes, but he ignores them all, pushing through the throng of people and pulling Charlie along by the hand. 

Smoke issues from the bottom of the rocket, tainting the morning sky. It’s just as blue today as it had been all those years ago, clear skies and a crisp spring breeze. Charlie’s heart is pounding in her chest, palms sweaty against Cid’s leather gloves, underneath which, he’s probably sweating, as well. And she’s certain that his pulse is pounding at the thought of losing their rocket for good. 

She wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else in the world. 

Part of her is afraid that Rufus will be here, having expected her to come and save her rocket. Part of her is afraid that Rufus will drag her back to Midgar, where she’ll be executed in front of the city for her betrayal and treason. Part of her is afraid that Rufus won’t execute her at all, but confine her to wherever he’s living to make sure she doesn’t escape him again. 

But with her friends here, and with Cid refusing to leave her side for even a second, Charlie doesn’t think she’ll be taken so easily this time. 

Cloud and the others trail along behind them, but Cid is leading this mission, and it was something that everyone seemed to understand the moment they touched down outside of Rocket Town, an unspoken agreement. 

Cid pulls her all the way to the rocket, stepping easily over the NO TRESPASSING signs. There’s no sign of Shera anywhere near the house, but there are Shinra troops all over the scaffolding, two of them guarding the bottom of the stairs. 

“You ready to put that pretty gun of yours to use?” Cid asks her over his shoulder. When she looks doubtful, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry, honey. If you’re not, you got eight of us to back you up.”

Charlie flashes him a very grateful and nervous smile, squeezing his hand as they come up on the rocket, their friends right on their heels. 

It had been a long, sleepless night. Charlie knew that it would come to violence, and after seeing Cid throw the train conductor off the side of Mount Corel with hardly a second though, she had understood that violence would not deter Cid from completing whatever task was at hand. Though she’s more prepared for it now than she had been before, it still shocks her to see Cid swipe at the two guards with incredible speed to slice them open with the tip of his weapon. 

_This is war_ , she supposes. _And they are our enemies._

“Listen!” Cid shouts at everyone as they gather at the bottom of the stairs. “Lottie and I will take it from here. Y’all wait back at the _Highwind_ for us, okay?”

“No way!” Cloud steps forward, shaking his head. “I’ll go with you!”

“Fine! Damn!”

“Meet us back at the ship!” Cloud instructs the others, who bid them good-bye and make back for the center of town. He follows Charlie and Cid higher up the stairs, to the next platform, where a few more guards stand waiting. 

“Stay back, Lottie!” Cid jumps in front of her, weapon drawn, shoulder-to-shoulder with Cloud. 

He and Cloud cut down the Shinra troops like they’re nothing, hacking and slashing and poking and prodding, tossing them over the side of the platform until their shouts cease abruptly. It’s not the first time she’s seen them fight and kill, but it’s normally monsters that they encounter along their way, and these guards are only doing what they were told to do. 

They climb the many ladders, one-by-one. Cid always goes first, followed by Charlie, who feels rather safe with her back watched by Cloud. The Buster Sword on his back makes her feel protected, and she continues up with a little more courage than she had before, knowing that she’ll eventually have to use the gun Vincent gave her. 

He gave it to her to be used, after all. 

As Cid climbs the last ladder, she can hear him swear when he reaches the platform, making her stomach flip. He pulls Charlie up by the arm, forcing her behind him, and it’s then that she sees why Cid has suddenly become so anxious. 

“Good to see you again, Charlie.”

From between Cid and Cloud, she sticks her tongue out at him. “Let us through, Rude, or it’ll mean trouble for you.”

“Sorry, but I have orders from the president,” Rude answers, adjusting the gloves on his hands, flanked by two infantrymen. “Our job is to eliminate everyone who gets in Shinra’s way.”

“Even me?” Charlie asks, a hand on her hip. 

“No, just your friends,” he tells her with a small, knowing smile, “and then I’m bringing you home.”

“She ain’t goin’ anywhere with you!” Cid shouts at the Turk, stepping forward with his weapon held out in front of him. “She doesn’t wanna go back to Midgar! What don’t you understand ‘bout that?”

“Stay out of this, Charlie,” Rude tells her again, putting his fists up. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t hurt him too badly,” Charlie pleads quietly in Cid’s ear, touching his arm as he prepares for a fight. “He was good to me.”

Cid sighs, as if this throws a wrench into his plans. “Damn it, Lottie . . .”

But neither Cid nor Cloud attempt to kill Rude during their fight, despite the fact that it would be too easy. She’s seen Cloud fight at full SOLDIER strength, and this is not the SOLDIER strength she’s accustomed to seeing. 

But she’s seen Rude fight at full strength before, and this is it. He isn’t going to hold back against Cid and Cloud. If he had more room, Charlie thinks he might have an easier time defending himself against the two men swinging sharp blades at him, but the fight is awkward shuffling and getting caught on railings and trying to corner each other. 

The guards they dispatch easily, tossing their bodies off the sides of the platform’s railings to open up their fighting space. Charlie debates running right through the battle, wanting to board the rocket before they run out of time and it launches. If she could just get the Huge Materia off the ship, they all could leave before anyone has time to catch her and throw her in the back of a Shinra helicopter bound for Midgar. 

Thankfully, once Cloud knocks the wind out of Rude with the blunt side of his sword, it’s all but over. He collapses to the ground, exhausted lying spread-eagle on his back in the middle of the steel platform, his breathing very shallow and ragged. Charlie is the last to step over him, muttering a genuine apology as his eyes fall closed behind crooked sunglasses. 

There are more men inside, including a captain stationed right inside the entrance to the rocket. He gives them all a bewildered look, eyes lingering on Charlie. “Miss Shinra!” he gasps, eyes widening as he looks down at the weapons held in their hands, blades flecked with blood. “How did you all get here? We had a Turk to stop you!”

“Yeah, about that . . .” Cid shrugs, looking pleased with himself, forcing the end of his spear into the captain’s stomach and guiding him forcefully towards the exit. There’s a horrible cry of pain as he pulls the blade from the soldier’s stomach, pressing a button on the wall to close the door of the rocket. 

“Let’s go already!” Charlie snaps, nearly bouncing on her feet, a combination of nerves and excitement. Her stomach is churning, and she’s sure she’ll throw up any moment, but there isn’t anything in her stomach to really throw up. “To the flight deck! We have to stop this rocket!”

When the door to the flight deck opens, Charlie is stunned to find people already inside, working on the controls in Shinra uniforms, going about their work almost happily. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Cid walks right up to the nearest one, slapping the drill right out of his hand. “What the hell are you guys doin’ to our ship?”

“Captain Highwind!” the drill-engineer says, turning around to face everyone. “Miss Shinra! You guys came back!”

“ _Roderick?_ ” Charlie asks, and the man smiles, the thinning hair on the sides of his head completely gray now, skin hanging off him as if he’s lost a lot of weight in the years since they’ve last seen each other. When she turns to look at the other two crew members, she recognizes them, as well. “What are you guys doing here? Don’t you realize what my brother is planning with this ship?”

“We’re going to launch the rocket, ma’am! With the materia bomb, it’s sure to destroy Meteor!” Roderick tells her excitedly, opening his arms and gesturing around at the inside of the flight deck, much to the delight of his fellow associates. He nods at Cid, as if just now remembering he’s there. “Captain,” he adds quickly. 

Cid grumbles under his breath. “Look, this rocket ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Why not?” Roderick asks, looking pleadingly at Charlie. “Our rocket could save the planet. Isn’t that what you want, Miss Shinra?”

Charlie can’t deny that’s very much what she wants. She wants her rocket to mean something after the failure it was all those years ago. She wants her rocket to contribute to the saving of the world. And she wants to be here when it does. 

She looks up at Cid, who seems to recognize the expression on her face. It doesn’t take much convincing, and he rests his weapon against the nearest wall to look over the controls. “How’s the rocket?” 

“It’s fine, for the most part,” Roderick explains. He seems thrilled that Charlie and Cid are on board with this plan (for the most part), wringing his hands together in front of him. “We planned to set the rocket to auto-pilot, but the most important device is broken.”

“Broken?” Charlie drags a hand down her face. Another thing wrong with her rocket. Another thing to keep it from launching properly. “Isn’t anyone trying to repair it?”

Another crew member speaks up after Roderick looks away awkwardly, his cheeks turning pink. “Well, Shera’s doing it . . .”

That causes Cid to erupt with rage. “Oh, fuckin’ great job, you dumbasses! She’s gonna take a hundred goddamn years to finish!” he groans, holding his head in his gloved hands as he digests this. “Okay, okay, tell her to get the fuck outta the rocket. Lottie and I are gonna take over here, so don’t worry ‘bout the auto-pilot! Now go tell everyone to scram!”

“Yes, sir! Good luck, Captain! Good luck, Miss Shinra!”

He looks over his shoulder at her, eyes alight with passion. When she inches closer to her, he wraps an arm around her waist and grins, the crew members all running out of the flight deck. 

“What the _hell_ do you think you two are doing?” Cloud shouts at them from the corner of the flight deck. 

Both Charlie and Cid jump. She had completely forgotten that Cloud was even here, having assumed he would have just waited for them outside the rocket. So engrossed in the prospect of her rocket launching again, she really has stopped thinking about the world outside of it. 

“I thought we agreed not to send the Huge Materia up to Meteor!” Cloud continues to protest, clapping a hand to his forehead. “There are _generations_ of knowledge and wisdom inside that materia. We need to get it off the rocket! Don’t you understand that?”

“Of course we understand,” Charlie tells him gently, stopping Cid from shouting back by resting a hand against his hard stomach, shaking her head. “But Cloud, don’t you realize this is our dream? Our rocket is going to launch, and we want to be on it. This is what we’ve wanted for so long.”

“We need that materia, Charlie. We can’t let Shinra just send it up to Meteor. You _know_ that.” Cloud looks desperate now, as if knowing their minds won’t be changed. Charlie would never change her mind, knowing that she has the opportunity now to fulfill her pipe dream with her captain at her side, a dream she thought dead forever. “We need the materia so we can save the planet from Sephiroth using its power!”

“Cloud, listen,” Cid begins again, this time a bit gentler than he may have been a few moments ago. “Lottie and I, we’re scientists. And science is its own power created and developed by humans. Who’s to say that _science_ isn’t what’ll save the planet?”

Charlie looks up at him, his arm still wrapped around her, holding her tight. There’s something in his face that she hasn’t seen since the day of the rocket launch, a half-forgotten day that she’s attempted to put out of her mind. All of sudden, there is nothing else in the world except for his face, for him. 

“I was able to earn my livin’ thanks to science . . .” Cid hesitates, looking down into her own face. “Thanks to Shinra . . . thanks to _you_.” He doesn’t even look back up to see if Cloud is still listening. Cloud might not even be there anymore. “To me, there’s nothin’ greater, no higher honor than takin’ this ship into space like I should’a done all those years ago.”

Charlie smiles, overwhelmed and unable to get close enough to him, wanting to cry just because she doesn’t know how else to express her gratitude. To see him with that same passion she loved all those years ago, to see him with a fire under his feet, with determination written all over his handsome face . . .

She pushes herself onto her toes and kisses him. He responds eagerly, allowing himself to be pulled even closer by the front of his jacket, a hand splayed between her shoulder blades while the other combs through her tangled hair. 

It’s messy and sloppy, teeth clacking together and mouths open wide, breathing love into each other, breathing their hopes and dreams and passions and fears into each other. The coarse, haphazardly shaved stubble on his face rubs at the soft skin around her mouth, making it itch and tingle, but she doesn’t mind so much. 

It reminds her of Reeve.

“Hey! _Hey!_ ”

Cid pulls away from her with a sigh, a groan, and a roll of his eyes. “Can’t you see I’m busy, man? I’m tryin’ to kiss my girl here,” he snaps at Cloud, gesturing at Charlie, who feels very dizzy at the implication of what he’s just said. Plus, he’s never kissed her like _that_ before, and she thinks he may have sucked the very life out of her lungs. “Don’t fuckin’ worry ‘bout what Shinra’s gonna do, all right? We can take care of it, so if you ain’t gonna help, then get the hell outta here!”

Cloud looks reluctant to leave them, though Charlie is eager to see him gone, if only to resume her passionate little display with her captain, with her pilot, with Cid.

The rocket suddenly seems to lurch, rumbling beneath their feet. Charlie is tired of earthquakes and tremors, but it’s much easier to keep her balance. Slipping into the chair that faces the control panel, she looks around for something that might give her control of the rocket. 

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” Cid asks her, hunched down over her shoulder and looking up at the monitor. 

There’s a few seconds of radio static before a voice comes in over the intercom, one that makes both Charlie and Cid groan. “ _Hey! Heeeeeey!_ ”

“Oh, Gods, Palmer!” She groans loudly. “What the hell do _you_ want?” Charlie hisses through the comm system. “Stay out of this! Cid and I are taking over!”

“ _Too late! They said they finished repairing the auto-pilot, so I launched it!_ ”

“Fuckin’ Shera!” Cid straightens up to his full height, bracing himself against the back of Charlie’s chair. “Why’d she have to pick today to get fast? Try stoppin’ it, Lottie!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying! Nothing’s working! Palmer has the entire thing completely locked up!” She pushes as many buttons as she can, even the Emergency Shut-Off button, but nothing works. 

“ _Almost lift off!_ ”

Cid slams a hand down on the control panel, making the entire thing rattle. “You’re not even gonna give us a countdown?”

“Cid, stop!” Charlie grabs hold of his wrist as he makes to slam down his fist again. “You’re going to break something!”

“ _Here we go! Blast off!_ ”

“What!”

“Just hang on!”

The rocket trembles for a final few seconds before she hears the thrusters roar to life about fifty feet below them, pushing them off the launch pad. 

“Lottie, look, baby, we’re gainin’ altitude.” Cid points to something on the monitor that’s tracking their progress, and Charlie can feel her heart racing impossibly fast. 

Through the windshield, Charlie can see the clouds flying by as they sail up into the blue sky towards space, towards the stars. She can’t look away, can’t think about anything else other than this. 

It can’t be real. It’s impossible. It must be a dream, and she’s going to wake up alone and cold in a few minutes, and they’ll still be aboard the _Highwind_ and the Shinra No. 26 will be sitting pretty and crooked in Rocket Town like it has for years. 

The rocket climbs higher and higher and higher, until they’re about to breach the planet’s atmosphere, and when they do, it rattles the rocket again, but it pushes through the invisible barrier until the sky begins to turn dark, and stars are visible clearly through the black sky, through _space_. 

It’s silent between the three of them for a long time as Charlie takes in what’s just happened. It all happened so quickly and unexpectedly that she hasn’t had time to appreciate what’s just happened at all. She can’t believe that this is happening, that this dream she gave up on so long ago has finally come to fruition, and it’s _better_ than her old dream, because this time, she’s _in_ the rocket, with Cid, and they’re doing it _together_. 

Cid must feel the same way, for he lets out a loud _whoop!_ and claps his hands together, bouncing on his feet. “Goddamn it, Lottie! We did it! We fucking _did it!_ ”

Charlie gets to her feet and feels the smile creep onto her face without warning, stretching the corners of her mouth as far as it can go, until she’s laughing of her own accord, laughter she hasn’t allowed herself in months. She throws herself at Cid, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling her feet leave the ground as he picks her up and spins her around, shouting congratulations. 

“We fucking did it!” he shouts again, setting her down so they’re able to look out the front of the rocket together, admiring the vast frontier they’ve stumbled upon. “Oh, _fuck_ . . . outer space . . . look at it! This was our dream!” He presses kisses to her cheeks, to her chin, to her forehead, to her nose. “You’re a _fucking_ genius, Lottie—”

“ _We_ did this,” she tells him, giggling as his lips touch down along her jaw, tickling her. Cid pulls his head away, still beaming at her. “You and me.”

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, nodding. “You and me.”

“Isn’t this rocket set for a collision course with Meteor?” Cloud asks suddenly, having hidden himself away in a corner for the majority of the launch. 

“Sure is,” Cid tells him. 

Cloud blinks at him, dumbfounded. “Aren’t you gonna do something about that?”

“What am I supposed to do ‘bout it?” Cid scoffs, rolling his eyes and elbowing Charlie like it’s some kind of inside joke, like it’s funny that Cloud has no idea how a rocket works. “Palmer locked the auto-pilot device. We ain’t gonna be able to change courses.”

Cloud’s face falls, and Charlie feels sorry for him. “So this is . . . the end?”

“Check him out, Lottie . . . he’s ready to give up that quick,” he chuckles again. “We ain’t crashin’ into Meteor, so relax, would you?”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s only being dramatic,” Charlie tells Cloud, offering him an apologetic smile. “There’s an escape pod we can use to get back to the ground. No one is dying in my rocket—”

“ _Our_ rocket.”

“No one is dying in _our_ rocket today.”

“I got the lock code for the escape pod, okay? We’ll bail before we crash into Meteor and get your ass back on the ground before the sun sets.” Cid smiles sweetly at Charlie, too innocent. “Now, Cloud, if you don’t mind . . .”

“Hang on!” Cloud interrupts again, and Cid scowls at him, one hand already on Charlie’s back. “What about the Huge Materia?”

“Do whatever you want with it!” Cid replies angrily, shrugging his shoulders. “C’mon, I’ll show you where you can find it.” He makes across the flight deck for a ladder that will take them to the very front of the rocket, where Cloud stops him one last time. 

“Wait, Cid. Are you sure?”

“I dunno.” Cid turns around, resting his back against the base of the ladder as the rocket continues to climb, higher and higher and higher, going ever faster, everything working just as she had pictured it. “I know what I said, but I think . . . bein’ here, in outer space . . . with Lottie . . .” He smiles weakly at her from across the small room. “Maybe that’s all I ever really wanted.”

Charlie smiles back at him, so full of love that she could die. 

“Just . . . do whatever you think is right,” Cid continues, turning back to Cloud and rubbing the back of his neck. “Lottie and I will support you. Right, honey?”

“Right,” is all she can say, unable to take her eyes off him, unable to wipe the smile off her face. 

“C’mon, princess. Let’s get that Huge Materia.”

Charlie follows Cid up the ladder, and Cloud climbs just below her. Upon reaching a confined platform, the three of them start up the next ladder, much taller than the last. At the top of _that_ ladder, they emerge in an empty room where the Huge Materia is set inside a glass case that’s locked up tight. 

They all kneel before it, looking down at a control panel labeled with numbers. “All right,” Cid sighs, brushing his fingers across the buttons. “We just gotta enter the passcode and the Huge Materia will be ours.”

There’s a long silence that follows, and when Charlie looks up again to see why everyone has gone quiet, it’s to find both Cid and Cloud looking expectantly at her. “Don’t look at me!” she protests, blushing. “I don’t know the passcode!”

“Just try!” Cid urges her, placing his hands on her shoulders. 

Charlie tries three different (and completely random) combinations, but none of them work. A red light at the top of the control panel flashes with the wrong passcode, and she sighs, frustrated. “It’s no use. I don’t know what the passcode could—”

Cid raises his eyebrows at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Well, I don’t know if . . . it’s worth a try, I suppose . . .” With trembling fingers, Charlie quickly punches in her birthday, the same code Rufus uses for all of his locked things. She doesn’t really expect it to work, but the control panel’s light clicks green, and the glass compartment door springs open to reveal the Huge Materia within. 

“Holy shit!” Cid claps her on the back. “You did it! How’d you know?”

“I guess I just know my brother,” she admits with a shy shrug. “There you go, Cloud. It’s all yours.”

“Great job!” he tells her with a smile, standing up to reach within the compartment, retrieving the Huge Materia and cradling it in his hands. “That’s all four, isn’t it?”

“That’s the last one.” Charlie touches the materia lightly as Cloud holds it up to her. It glows bright, a pale green color. “Let’s hurry to the escape pod. We don’t have much time before the rocket collides with Meteor.”

Though she’s loath to leave the rocket, Charlie knows that it’s foolish to stay. Her precious rocket will be decimated soon, too small to do anything against Meteor, not designed as a weapon, but as a mode of transport. She leads both Cid and Cloud down the several ladders, halfway through a narrow corridor when there’s a deafening _boom!_ and a flash of light that blinds them.

Someone shoves her roughly out of the way. “Lottie, get d— _argh!_ ”

“Cid!”

When the smoke clears and Charlie regains her footing, she finds Cid lying on the ground, a large piece of sheet metal over his legs, pinning him to the ground. He struggles to free himself, but the metal weighs heavily on him. “Goddamn it,” he breathes, trying to lift it off him. “It’s too heavy.”

Charlie tries to lift it, but even with Cloud’s help, it hardly moves. “Hang in there . . .” She strains her muscles as she attempts to lift with her legs, face turning red. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he tells them, reaching out to touch Charlie’s wrist, preventing her from trying to free him. “You and Cloud get outta here. If you don’t hurry, the rocket’s gonna crash right into Meteor with you on it—”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snaps, jerking her wrist away from him and trying to lift the debris again. “I’m not leaving you here!”

“You’re gonna be on that escape pod with us, Cid,” Cloud tells him, giving Charlie a reassuring nod as they lift again. This time, the debris moves an inch, but not enough to free Cid’s legs. 

“You fuckin’ jackass,” Cid hisses at Cloud. “Take her and get the hell outta here!”

Charlie gives Cloud a piercing look. “I’m not going anywhere without him, so don’t even try.”

Cloud smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna. I’m gonna do whatever I can to get you out of here, Cid.”

Cid groans, tilting his head back to rest it against another oxygen tank. “You stupid son of a bitch,” he growls at Cloud before looking right at Charlie. “And you . . . stubborn little _brat_. Leave me here to die, would you? I want you to get outta here. I don’t want you to die, Lottie—”

“Oh, Gods, _shut up_ and quit being so dramatic.” Charlie rolls her eyes at him, her fingers starting to hurt from trying to pry the debris off him. She looks down at it, catching sight of a stamped number by her right hand. It’s bright red, painted across the metal. “Wait a minute . . . this is . . .” She turns to look at the wreckage left behind. “Cid, this is oxygen tank number eight.”

It takes him a minute to understand, but when he does, he drags a hand down his face and groans again. “Fuck. It really was malfunctioning, huh?”

Charlie purses her lips. “I guess so.”

“Listen, Lottie, when you get back down there, you better apologize to Shera for me—”

“Apologize to her yourself,” she tells him quickly, tired of his theatrics. She doesn’t want to even think about leaving Cid behind on a rocket doomed for destruction. She refuses to be responsible for that, refuses to make that decision, refuses to leave him if that’s what it’s going to come down to. “We’ll go together.”

“No, honey . . . this is the end for me.”

“Stop saying that, Cid. You’re only upsetting her.”

The soft voice is accompanied by the opening and closing of a door. Cid’s eyes go wide when he sees who has stowed away for the launch, and Charlie blushes. “Shera?” he shouts, blinking wildly at her. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” 

“I decided to come along. I wanted to help you,” Shera answers. 

Charlie feels her anger surge. “No one told you to—” She closes her mouth abruptly before anything hateful can come spilling out of her. Even Shera seems to be waiting for something hurtful, and it’s the nervous expression that makes Charlie soften. “Thank you.”

“Goddamn it, Shera,” Cid continues, albeit gentler than he would have before, especially as Shera kneels down beside Charlie and helps lift the debris. It’s easier with three people, and Cid is able to wriggle his way free after a few seconds, rubbing his thighs and sighing. “Thanks.”

Charlie takes hold of his arm, helping him to his feet, brushing the front of his jacket off. “Are you okay?”

He nods, brushing some of the debris from his hair and smiling at her. “I am now. _My_ _hero_.”

She blushes furiously, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Come on.” Shera gestures towards the escape pod with a small smile. “This way. I’ve made sure the escape pod is ready for flight.”

“Then I’m relieved,” Cid tells her, elbowing Charlie in the ribs as Shera’s back is turned to them. “Say somethin’ nice,” he whispers gruffly in her ear. 

Charlie scowls at him, but knows that Shera very probably deserves this kindness right now. “Yeah, me too. I’m relieved.”

Shera looks over her shoulder at them as she opens the door that will lead towards the escape pod. “Thanks.”

The escape pod is just big enough for the four of them. Cid and Charlie squeeze onto the leathery bench on one side, while Cloud and Shera sit comfortably apart from each other on the other side. 

“All right, hold on, I’m going to detach the escape pod,” Shera says, reaching for a small control panel by the door of the pod. “Let’s hope we land somewhere easily accessible.”

“Oh, haven’t heard, have you, Shera?” Cid grins, looking sideways at Charlie and leaning back in his seat, hands held behind his head. “Ended up gettin’ my airship back from Shinra after all.”

* * *

He wants to kiss her, just like he did on the flight deck of the Shinra No. 26. 

The view out the escape pod’s window is phenomenal and fucking amazing, but there’s something about the smile on Lottie’s face that’s otherworldly in its own way, a smile he hasn’t seen on her face for fucking _years._

Both of them are pressed against the window, able to see the infinite expanse of space that surrounds them, so black that it’s almost unsettling, filled with bright-burning stars that form the constellations that Charlie was always pointing out to him when she was younger. 

The sight is enough to fill her with breathless laughter, laughter that makes him smile. He wishes that the two other jackasses weren’t here, just so he could tell Charlie how he feels, what he thinks, without being overheard. He wants to kiss her without making a public display of it. He wants to tell her he loves her without making a fucking fool of himself. 

This is what they had dreamed of, that night he took her out to look at the stars with him in his own little hideaway a few miles from base camp. They had dreamed of going into space together, of never coming back, and he wants to tell her that he’s so fucking happy that he could die right now.

Charlie turns her head to look at him, and she is so beautiful and so fucking sweet, and a fucking genius who designed a rocket with him, a rocket that made it into space, something no one else had ever accomplished before. There are tears building in her eyes, but they’re happy ones, judging by the smile still glued to her face, perfect teeth and a little dimple on her left cheek. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” she tells him hoarsely, keeping her voice low as if to keep Cloud and Shera from hearing. “I never dreamed that . . . I might be here, with you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, very aware of everyone’s eyes on them. Clearing his throat, feeling a flush creep up the back of his neck, Cid points towards the rocket, still making for Meteor, headed for its destruction. “So long, Shinra No. 26 . . .”

They’re just about to break through the planet’s atmosphere again when the rocket collides with Meteor. Cid doesn’t really think it’s going to do anything, given the sheer size of Meteor and their tiny rocket, but there’s a massive, soundless explosion that brightens the sky and shakes the escape pod, throwing everyone around, bodies slamming into each other. 

Charlie and Shera’s foreheads crack when they’re thrown together, and Cloud is thrown from his seat against the locked door with a grunt. Cid nearly breaks his nose against the glass window as the escape pod is pushed faster towards the looming planet. Charlie and Shera continue to groan on the floor, rubbing their bright red foreheads, the both of them looking slightly disoriented. 

“Everyone okay?” Cid asks, trying to see what’s happened to Meteor. 

“I think so,” Shera answers, pulling herself back up into her seat as the escape pod straightens out, leaving space behind them as they make for a giant body of water still miles and miles and miles below them. “Sorry, Miss Shinra.”

“No, it’s fine,” Charlie replies, waving a flippant hand at her and sitting back down next to Cid. “And you can call me Charlie. What happened to Meteor?”

Cid sighs, pulling away from the window to collapse beside Lottie, throwing an arm over the back of the seat, letting his fingertips brush against her shoulder. “It’s still there, but I didn’t really expect our rocket to do shit. Looks fuckin’ worse, if you ask me. Guess that’s what we get for pissin’ it off.”

The escape pod is silent the rest of the descent, and all the sentimental feelings he had felt only minutes ago now seem unimportant. He pulls Charlie closer to him, and she refuses to look out the window again until they’ve touched down in the middle of the ocean. 

* * *

To Charlie’s surprise, Cid’s house still stands when they return to Rocket Town, having been fished from the ocean by their friends aboard the _Highwind._

When she voices this to him, Cid laughs. “I built my fuckin’ house. You think I’d build some shitty fuckin’ thing?”

Their rocket has blown out the windows, however, of all the nearby homes and shops, and some buildings don’t have roofs anymore. Trees have split and branches have fallen in the middle of the roads, but the atmosphere is exciting. Everyone who witnessed the history rocket launch is talking about it with others, and reliving it by telling those who had been inside during take-off. 

Cid leads them all inside his home, which he confesses has never held so many people inside before. He offers them whatever space he has for the night, and with the massive disappointment in regards to Meteor, Cloud decides that they’ll stay put for the night and think of a new plan tomorrow. 

They all pile into the sitting room, crowded around the television to see what’s going on in Midgar. It’s all old footage, she knows, because Sector Seven is still standing in the clips they show, and that doesn’t escape Tifa or Barret’s notice. As Barret begins his daily rant about the crimes that Shinra has committed, Charlie slips away unnoticed, sneaking into the kitchen, where Shera is putting a kettle on the stove to boil and looking through the cabinets for something to cook.

“Do you need any help?” Charlie asks carefully, watching Shera flinch at the sound of her voice. It’s discouraging, but she supposes it’s only natural after everything. “I should warn you, though . . . I can’t cook to save my life.”

“No, no, that’s all right.” Shera smiles over her shoulder, but it’s weak and tired. “I don’t mind.”

Charlie nods. She should have known there was no use for her here in the kitchen. Sometimes it feels like there’s no use for her anywhere, hardly able to do anything. Instead of going back into the sitting room, Charlie seats herself at the kitchen table, looking up at the lamp that swings back and forth with every gust of wind through the broken window. 

She does a double-take, looking back up when it swings just the right way. Standing back up and on her toes, Charlie grabs hold of the warm lamp and plucks a tiny, silver listening device right off the inside of the lampshade. Shera watches, bewildered, as Charlie holds it up. 

“What is that?” Shera asks. 

“Tseng must have bugged your house when he came.” She sets it down on the table, sighing. She’s certain that no one is listening on the other end anymore. “I’m sorry. I never asked him to come here, I swear.”

Shera nods awkwardly, turning back towards the stove and busying herself with a few boxes of pasta. “You have a very good eye, Miss Shinra.”

“Tseng’s been bugging my apartment for years,” Charlie confesses, toying with the bug distractedly. “I suppose I’m used to it. I know all of his hiding places.” They laugh softly together, but it’s forced, and Charlie knows that she shouldn’t beat around the bush anymore. “Listen, Shera, I . . . I am so sorry for what happened all those years ago.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“No, I do,” Charlie interrupts her. That makes Shera turn around again, wide-eyed behind those round glasses of hers, probably the same ones she wore five years ago. “I could tell you that I was forced to make that call, or that I believed it to be the right call, but really, I . . .” She hesitates, wondering if her apology will even be enough. “I just wanted to be a good daughter, even if it was at the expense of someone else’s life.”

Shera looks down at her feet, opening and closing her mouth for a moment before deciding not to speak. Charlie rather wishes she would. 

“I just want you to know that, if I had to make that decision again, right now,” she continues, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, “I would never go through with it. It’s something that has haunted me for a long time, and . . . knowing what I know now, about my father and the company . . . I should never have asked Cid to continue with the launch. I should have aborted it myself the moment I found out you were in the engine room.”

There’s a long silence between them, until the kettle begins to scream. Shera quickly takes it off the heat and clears her throat. “Thank you,” she rasps. “But, to be honest, I never really needed an apology from you. I would have been honored to sacrifice myself for a successful launch.”

“How did it feel? Being in space?” Charlie can’t help ask. 

Shera smiles at her, a little more genuinely. “I should be asking you. It was _your_ dream, wasn’t it?”

The words knock the wind out of her. To know that Shera will not hold this against her for the rest of their days is a weight off her chest. To know that Shera doesn’t think her a murderer, doesn’t think her a clone of her father or brother . . . that knowledge goes a long way, and it’s so overwhelming that Charlie excuses herself before answering Shera’s question, sneaking out the back door. 

Cid is outside as the sun begins to set (though it hardly seems like it, with a recharged Meteor making its way closer and closer to the planet with every passing moment), smoking a cigarette and gazing wistfully at the empty launch pad, his fence collapsing and broken from the force of the blast. 

Charlie clears her throat, wrapping her arms around her as goosebumps cover her bare skin. “So . . .” she begins slowly, walking up to his side and biting down on her lower lip. He still has that dreamy look about him, just like he’d been wearing in the escape pod, looking out the window and towards the distant stars. “I think I’m going to head back to the _Highwind_ now.”

The dreamy look vanishes instantly and he looks down at her. “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? I told you that you could stay here for the night. Did Shera fuckin’ say somethin’?”

“No!” Charlie says quickly, stopping him before that thought can take hold within his brain. “No, Shera’s been kind. It’s just that . . .” She shifts uncomfortably upon her feet, scoffing. “I’m not going to sleep in the house that you share with another woman.”

He laughs, like it’s a joke. When he notices that Charlie isn’t smiling, the humor vanishes from his face quick enough. 

“Well, you don’t have to sleep in the living room, y’know. You can sleep in my bed, if you want.” He takes the last drag off his cigarette, flicking it over his property line and into the unruly grass. “With or without me. Your choice, but I’m hopin’ you choose to sleep _with_ me.”

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed where you’ve fucked other women.”

Cid’s face seems to take on a range of emotions before settling on complete confusion. He blinks at her in reply before thinking of something to say. “First of all, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say _fuck_ before—”

Charlie flushes. “I’ve said _fuck_ before—”

He slumps his shoulders, still smiling in a way that makes her feel as if she’s being mocked. She can’t bear it. She’s never liked sharing a bed with Rufus where he had fucked other women, though he was always more than accommodating about it. It feels degrading, like she’s just the same as all those women.

Maybe she is, even if she doesn’t want to believe it. 

_Do you want to end up like one of those slum girls?_ _Do you know what they do for a living?_ her father told her once, when she was just a girl, dreaming of something other than the company, dreaming of space and the stars. 

_Do you want to be like one of those whores your brother is so fond of?_ her father told her once, after hearing about her little crush on Angeal. 

_A slut, just like your mother,_ he told her once, after catching her in bed with Rufus, the night she watched her brother nearly get beaten to death on the floor of his bedroom. 

Cid frowns, bringing her out of her reverie. “What do you want me to do ‘bout that, honey? I’ve changed my sheets since then, if that’s what you’re so concerned about.”

“I think I just want to go back to the _Highwind_.”

“Okay,” he says after a minute. When she takes a step away, he takes a step forward. “I’ll go with you.”

“You should stay here. It’s your house, and I wouldn’t put it past Yuffie to go through all your things.” 

Charlie wants him to come, truly, but their extended absence would surely be remarked upon, and she doesn’t want to rub that fact in Reeve’s face. She’ll have time to talk about the rocket tomorrow, and Cid will be able to tell their friends for her if he stays here tonight. 

“I’m just feeling kind of tired,” she adds, smiling weakly at him. His prolonged silence is making her nervous. “So, I guess I’ll . . . see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Good-night, kiddo.”

* * *

The _Highwind_ feels impossibly big when she boards, and that’s speaking as someone who’s been in space. 

The crew members are all gathered together in the Operation’s Room, sharing drinks and stories. They call her in and convince her to take a shot of whiskey with them before she calls it quits, making for her bedroom. 

Charlie locks herself within the room, the silence oppressive. For a brief moment, as she passes by the window that frames Meteor perfectly in the sky, she wonders what it might be like to fling herself from that window. She wonders how people might react to finding Charlotte Shinra’s broken body on the ground. She wonders if people would celebrate. She wonders if Rufus would cry for her. 

She should feel happier. She accomplished her dream, all with her captain at her side. She had made it to space, had been among the stars like her mother used to dream of. 

And all she can think about is how much has changed since the first failed launch. All she can think about is how Rufus tried to execute her, how Reeve had finally voiced his disdain for Cid, how Midgar is no longer home. 

The last thing she wants is to ruin Cid’s enthusiasm about what happened today, so she lies awake for hours, watching the sun go down and the moon come up, wondering what her friends are doing, wondering if they’re talking about her, if they think she’s run away to steal her airship from them. 

Around midnight, she finally starts to drift off. Her eyes are growing heavy when there’s a soft knock on the door. 

She’s infinitely grateful for the company, no matter who is on the other side of the door. She would be even more grateful if it’s a crew member holding an extra shot in his hand for her.

“I’m coming,” she calls out, feeling underdressed in her shorts and tank top, cracking the door just enough to keep most of her body hidden. “Oh—”

“Hi, Lottie.” Cid doesn’t look drunk, which is the only reason she thinks he might have come here at midnight. He looks like he dressed in the dark, as well. His shirt looks like it might be on backwards, his jacket thrown over it, and his pants are slightly crooked. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” 

“Good.” He rests his forehead against the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

“I’m not dressed for the occasion.”

“That’s all right, honey. I’ve seen you in a lot less. Now, you gonna let me in?”

Charlie smiles shyly. “Okay.”


	64. Chapter 64

“I can’t stop thinking about it, Lottie.”

He paces restlessly back and forth in front of the bed. She leans against the windowsill, arms wrapped around herself as she watches him with a small smile. 

“I can’t stop _thinking_ about it.” He combs his fingers through his hair, looking half his age, excited and bouncing on his feet. “I mean . . . that was our _dream_ , wasn’t it? Goin’ into space? In _our_ rocket? And it took us years, but we fucking _did it_.”

Charlie can’t recall ever seeing him so excited before. “I’m so happy for you,” she tells him earnestly. 

Cid stops abruptly, right in front of her. His eyes shine bright blue in the pale lighting of the moon and the ominous glow of Meteor that filters through the window. “Lottie . . . Charlie . . .” He touches her upper arms, squeezing gently and looking right into her eyes, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile. “If them two idiots hadn’t been there with us, I would’a never wanted to come back.”

She blinks in surprise. His voice is so serious, which is at serious odds with his expression, an uncontrollable grin plastered to his face, only serving to make him more handsome. 

“You did it, Charlie. _We_ did it, after all this time.” He looks at her for what feels like a long time, his smile slowly fading. “What’s wrong?”

Charlie shakes her head, not wanting to seem dismayed. Her resolve must have weakened in the face of his own excitement. 

“Tell me.”

She hesitates, glancing up into his face again. “Do you really think the world is going to end?”

Cid squeezes her arms tighter, but certainly not tight enough to hurt her. “I dunno,” he answers. “I’m just happy to be with you.”

The words are like a knife to the heart. She’s so happy to be with him, too, but if the world is ending, there are other people she wants to see, other people she wants to spend her last days with, like her real family. 

She wants to see Veld again and tell him everything she couldn’t think to say when she met him in Junon. 

She wants to see Tseng again and spend time together in a comfortable silence, to talk about days long gone and friends that will never come back.

She wants to see Reeve again and be held by him one last time, to thank him for loving her for so long, to thank him for everything he has ever done for her. 

She wants to see Rufus one last time, because he’s still her brother, and despite what he threatened to do to her, he had still taken care of her when they were younger, had done everything in his power to make her feel loved and wanted and happy. 

Charlie knows that these people she’s with are not her family. Cid, despite how much she cares for him, is not her family. And even entertaining the idea that she might love him is frightening, because it feels like turning her back on all of the people who had cared for her nearly all of her life.

“Cid, I . . .” She squirms in his hold, turning her head left and right, uncomfortable making eye contact with him. 

“I know,” he says. “Don’t think I don’t know how this is gonna end.”

Bewildered, Charlie stops her shifting. There’s no way he could possibly know how she’s feeling or what she’s thinking. “How do you think this is going to end?”

He gives her an exasperated little smile, too knowing. “I always knew you’d end up goin’ back to Midgar, no matter what happens with Meteor,” he rasps, his face very close to her own. “You don’t belong here, with us. You’ve got your own family waitin’ for you.”

_How could I have possibly allowed him to know me so well?_ she can’t help but think. 

“Then what are you doing?” she asks breathlessly, his face moving closer.

“I’m sayin’ a proper good-bye this time,” he whispers. “And I’m gonna let you break my heart all over again.”

That seems like a very large weight he’s dropping on her shoulders. Part of her wants to let Cid break _her_ heart, as well, if it means being able to spend a few more days with him, but her heart has already been broken so many times, and she isn’t certain she’s ready for it to shatter all over again. 

“You don’t seem like a man who has his heart broken very easily, Captain.”

That makes him smile again. “I care about you a lot, Lottie.”

“I care a lot about you, too.”

His smile grows, a genuine and sentimental little thing, but she only gets to witness it for a few moments before his mouth is on hers. Knowing this may be the last chance she ever gets, and wanting to make the most out of it, Charlie kisses him back. 

If she were braver, or bolder, she might slip her hands underneath his jacket to push it off him, or she might slip her hands up his shirt to feel his slightly ribbed muscles beneath her hands. She wants so badly for this moment to last forever before Meteor hits, but all she can think about is Reeve Reeve Reeve Reeve _Reeve_ , and how much she still loves him, and how much she wants to see him again. 

She doesn’t care if she never gets the chance to properly love Reeve again. All she wants is to be with him, to let him know that she hasn’t forgotten about him, to let him know that she would be happy to die at his side, holding him while the world burns around them. 

But what if she never gets that chance? What if she’s fated to spend her last days with Cid? Should she allow herself such a selfish indulgence, even if it were to hurt someone she loves very much? 

Kissing Cid is one thing. She’s kissed him before, and she’s recently done far worse things with her own brother. But to give Cid something she’s only ever given Reeve seems wrong and dirty. 

Charlie didn’t leave Reeve because she didn’t love him. She left him because she loved him so much, and all she wanted was to keep him safe. She understands now that she went about it entirely the wrong way, but it’s too late to go back and apologize now. Not after finding out about Cait Sith and Veld and Tseng. Not after what she’s done with Cid. 

Things have moved very quickly between her and Cid, given their constant close proximity to each other, the things that they’ve been through . . . even earlier today, they had achieved their dream together, the dream she had given up on years ago. The timing is bad, just like it was all those years ago, when she fired Cid and turned around a week later to find comfort in another man’s arms. 

He breaks apart from her, breathing heavily and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck, holding her tight against his chest. “Do you wanna bring some drinks out to the deck?”

With her eyes still closed, Charlie wraps an arm around his neck and scratches lightly at the back of his neck, toying with the ends of his hair. “I would like that very much.”

“Okay. Put a jacket on first. I don’t want you catchin’ a cold.”

Charlie does as he says, and Cid leads her through the long corridors of their airship by the hand, until they reach the double doors that will lead them back outside and onto the deck. 

He stops abruptly in front of them, turning around and chewing anxiously at the inside of his cheek. He always does that when he wants a cigarette. 

“Okay, close your eyes.”

Charlie frowns. “What? Why?”

“Just do it. C’mon. Close your eyes.”

She sighs, but obliges after he gives her a pleading little puppy-dog look. She hears the opening of the doors, feels a blast of chilly air, and Cid leads her outside with both of her hands in his own. 

“Ready?”

“For what?” she asks again. 

“Open your eyes now.”

Charlie opens her eyes, hands falling back to her sides. For a moment, she’s completely speechless, taking in the scene with her lips slightly parted, unable even to form a coherent thought. 

“What is this?” she finally manages to say. 

“A celebration.” Cid puffs his chest out, putting his hands on his hips and looking far too smug for his own good. “We _did_ see our dream come true earlier today.”

There’s a blanket laid out on the center of the deck with extra blankets and pillows off to the side (clearly taken from empty rooms aboard the _Highwind_ ), an open cooler full of beer and one bottle of champagne, and a lantern. There are several containers of food set up on the blanket, with silverware and glasses. 

“I had the crew help me get set up,” he admits, kneeling down upon the blankets and popping open the bottle of champagne, pouring it into the two glasses. “I know it’s late, but we can sleep when we’re dead, right? So come celebrate with me.”

She lowers herself onto the blanket, holding her jacket around her. They toast each other with shy smiles, sipping at the champagne. It’s cheap and, frankly, tastes very bad, but she drinks it for his sake. Cid nearly chokes on it, his face twisting in disgust. 

“Fuck, that’s sweet.” He coughs, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “That’s terrible. You like that shit?”

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it,” she laughs, watching the relief wash over him as he puts the glass aside. “Was that supposed to impress me?”

“Maybe. Did it work?”

“Oh, Cid,” Charlie answers, laughing again. “You don’t have to try and impress me. I like you just the way you are.”

* * *

If this was his last night alive, Cid thinks he could die happy. 

He can’t stop looking at her, feeling as if he’s seeing a side of her he’s never seen before since meeting her all those years ago. They’re able to spend a full hour and a half talking about outer space, talking over each other in their excitement, laughing together. 

The alcohol and cool breeze keeps a healthy flush on her face, and she lies on her side with her elbow propping her head up, tangled blonde hair combed over with her fingers. Every so often, she bites down on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth before smiling at him like she hasn’t a fucking care in the world. 

He’s gotten used to the sight of her without makeup or jewelry on, without her hair done in a fancy little fucking braid like she usually had it during long days on the road, without expensive clothes clinging to her body, but it all still feels very intimate. 

Even when they had worked on the Shinra No. 26 together, she had still been Charlotte Shinra, daughter to President Shinra, heiress to the Shinra Electric Power Company. But here she’s just Charlie, just Lottie, and she may not even be a Shinra at all. 

She talks a lot that night. 

She tells him about Veld, about the Turk that she had known for as long as she can remember, who had cared for her like a father, who had cooked for her and read to her and helped her with school work, who had tucked her into bed at night and called her ‘little princess’. Veld had taught her how to swim, she says, and never yelled at his subordinates in front of her after he did it once and made her six-year-old self cry. 

She tells him about her real father, and the abuse that she and Rufus had been subjected to. She talks about watching her brother get beaten bloody on a fairly regular basis, and talks about the open contempt her father had shown her. 

She tells him about Tseng, and how long it had taken for him to warm up to her, who ended up being one of the best friends she could ever have asked for. 

She tells him all about Angeal and his friends (it’s jarring to hear her speak of Sephiroth as an acquaintance, a stark reminder of who she really is) and her mother, who she wishes could have been alive to see the rocket launch into outer space. 

It all sounds so fucking sad coming out of her mouth. Charlie seems to have accepted all this as relatively normal, but Cid thinks her upbringing, her lack of a real childhood, the constant and prolonged absences of her father, the casual way in which she speaks about being a young girl surrounded by trained (and trusted) assassins, or the casual way in which she speaks of her first love being some sort of monster . . . it all seems slightly unnatural, unsettling.

But he isn’t about to stop her. She talks like she’s never had a chance to speak about it before, and she speaks fondly of many memories from her girlhood and the time spent with the Turks, even though it makes Cid feel anxious. He can’t imagine that the Turk that left him for dead in his home could be so fucking warm and loving towards her.

Briefly, he remembers their time in Wutai, and how Charlie had walked up to the red-headed Turk without fear as he tried to kill that slimy fuck Don Corneo. She hadn’t been afraid at all, despite what he was doing. She knew that the Turks wouldn’t hurt her, and while it all makes sense now, it’s still odd. 

She says nothing of the jerkoff she was going to marry, only recalls how they had met for the first time. After that, it’s radio fucking silence on Reeve. 

And then she’s quiet for a long time about everything, looking up at the night sky, taking a sip of beer, running a hand through her hair. 

“I’m going to tell you something,” Charlie continues after a while, still looking at the stars. “Something I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Okay,” Cid replies, because he doesn’t know what else to say to her. 

And she doesn’t hold back. She tells him the truth about herself and Rufus, how it had started when they were merely children, how it had started as something that brought them both comfort and feelings of love, and eventually graduated into something that became their little secret, something no one else knew about them, something they swore to forget come morning. 

He has to admit to himself that it’s slightly horrifying and a little bit uncomfortable to hear Charlie speak of her pretty tame sexual escapades with her own brother, not bothering to go into explicit detail about things, but making it clear that _things had happened,_ and those things had happened with her consent, and that they were well aware it was wrong, but decided to keep doing it. 

She tells him what happened in Junon, and how she had convinced Rufus to let them all go by putting that mouth of hers to work, and tells him how she had shared a bed with Rufus for that week and let him kiss her and touch her, how she had kissed and touched him in return. 

Charlie has a multitude of excuses prepared, quickly getting defensive despite Cid not saying a single fucking word about it. He tries not to let anything show on his face, either, but the thought of kissing that pretty little mouth of hers after she had used it on her own brother makes his stomach flip. 

They were lonely children who only had each other, she claims. 

There was no one in the world that she could trust more than her brother, she claims. 

No one had ever talked to them about anything relating to sex, so it was left to them to figure it out themselves, she claims. 

It took them a long time to realize what they were doing was wrong, she claims, and besides, they never _really_ had sex. 

Rufus was the only man who ever consistently loved her, she claims, and why shouldn’t she show her love to him, after everything that he’d done for her?

And to Cid’s surprise, Charlie confesses that both Veld and Tseng had been very aware of her close relationship with her brother, and claims that her father nearly killed Rufus when he caught them both in bed together one day. 

She’s blushing when she finishes, and there are tears running down her cheeks, and she’s looking at him like she’s begging for him to stay. Charlie smiles weakly, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jacket, and clearing her throat. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse. 

“And now you know everything about me,” she croaks, lifting her eyes to meet his own again. “Maybe I’m not the perfect little princess everyone likes to think I am.”

Unsure of what to say, unsure that he’s capable of saying something that will make her feel better, Cid reaches out to fuss with her hair, pushing some stray strands from her face and tucking them behind her ears. 

Charlie gives him a small smile again as he wipes at one of her tears with his thumb. Her skin is so soft and so smooth, pale as snow in the moonlight and absolutely glowing with the orange light that radiates off Meteor. 

“Do you still like me?” she whispers to him. 

Cid smiles back at her. Of course he still likes her, and he’d still like her even if she admitted to fucking her brother, because he knows who she is and doesn’t ever have to be left wondering why she is the way she is now. 

“Yeah,” he answers softly. “I still like you.”

She looks disbelieving, but relieved all the same. “I loved you, you know,” she says. “And when you left, you broke my heart. I cried for weeks over you.”

He almost reminds her of the fact that she was the one who sacked him in the first place, that it was her fault he was sent far away from her. But he holds his tongue because, despite whatever false memory she’s conjuring up, she’s just said the words he’s been aching to hear from her for years. 

It doesn’t make him feel as happy as he thought it would. Maybe because she isn’t confessing to loving him _now._ He knows that’s a lot to ask, given that she just recently broke off her engagement to someone she genuinely loved, but it would be nice to hear it, even under false pretenses, even said simply because the world might end soon. 

“I dunno what you saw in me, Lottie.” He exhales loudly, the ghost of a laugh. “A pilot from some . . . backwater fuckin’ country town.”

The corners of her lips curl upwards into a sad smile. “How could I not have loved you?”

“We were too different,” he shrugs, adjusting his elbow against the pillow, his arm growing tired. “I didn’t realize that, back then. But I know it now.”

Charlie doesn’t have anything to say to that. No doubt she knows it’s true. He isn’t ever going to be one of those rich fucking pricks that drool over her, that can offer her the entire fucking world with a snap of their fingers. He isn’t ever going to sound sophisticated, isn’t ever going to be some kind of businessman, isn’t ever going to attend board meetings and charity balls. 

“Did you mean what you said on the rocket?” she asks him. “Am I your girl?”

It sounds so fucking childish when she says it like that. _Is that what I sounded like? You fucking moron._ “Yeah,” he replies. “‘Course you’re my girl. Long as you’re here with me.”

“And if I were to leave?”

Cid scoffs, feeling on the spot. “Then at least I’ll get a proper good-bye this time.” He sighs, feeling exhausted. It must be getting very late. “I just want you to be happy, Lottie.”

She looks at him for a long time, like he’s crazy or something. For a few seconds, he fully expects her to tear him a new one, just because she has this look in his eye that he identifies with her rage. 

But she only kisses him, soft and gentle and sweet, just long enough for him to understand what she can’t bring herself to put into words. 

* * *

He wakes before Charlie does. 

The sun has just begun to rise, and they’re still on the deck of his airship. He can’t move—he doesn’t _want_ to move, not with her head in the crook of his arm and her hand up his shirt, palm splayed over his chest, over his heart. 

He drags a hand down his face, knowing that he’ll have to wake her soon. They’ve left their mess scattered all over the deck, and his half-full glass of champagne has spilled during the night. When he moves his leg, just barely, he accidentally kicks some empty beer bottles around. 

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, only able to remember how heavy his eyes had gotten once Charlie started running her fingers through his hair. How she had wormed her way against his side and up his shirt, he has no idea, but it’s not like he cares much. 

Looking down into her face, Cid wonders how many of these stolen moments he has left. 

In another life—in a life without Meteor—he doubts that he would even have these little moments at all. With their impending doom impossible to forget, things have moved much quicker than he anticipated. He never expected to so easily forgive her for the things she’s done, never expected to so easily fall right back in love with her like she hadn’t been gone for years, never expected to so easily gain her trust. 

Now that he thinks about it, he understands why it was so easy. Out of all their companions, Charlie shared a history with him. They gravitated towards each other. They had common ground. They trusted each other with their lives, even if they didn’t agree with each other. 

But she’s someone else’s girl, no matter what he says, and the dickhead who she really loves is waiting for her in Midgar. 

“Lottie . . .” he whispers, threading the fingers of his free hand through her hair. “Wake up, honey. We gotta get back inside before those jackasses get here.”

“Just a few more minutes,” she murmurs against his shoulder, shifting closer and holding him tight before her grip on his torso slackens and she’s asleep again. 

_A few more minutes,_ he thinks. _Let the world fucking stop. Let me have this one fucking thing._

A few more minutes. Well, he doesn’t see anything wrong with that. 

* * *

“ _You’re_ up bright and early,” Yuffie remarks, giving Charlie’s arm a few light punches. It’s something Charlie has grown accustomed to, and it’s almost too easy to ignore now. “Hope you two were thinkin’ about how we’re gonna take out Meteor.”

“My hopes were pinned on the rocket, and that didn’t work,” Charlie says, shouldering her out of the way as Yuffie’s fingers stray towards the many buttons across the console in front of them. “Don’t touch anything, Yuffie. The last thing we need is for the _Highwind_ to become inoperable.”

“Well, we have to think of something!” Tifa sighs heavily from the front of the bridge, watching through the front as the airship slowly rises from the ground. 

“Can’t waste time worryin’ now,” Cid adds, standing on her right. His arms are folded over his chest, and he looks more confident than he seemed last night, when he was confessing his fear of the world ending to her. “Every second we spend worryin’, things are only gonna get worse and worse.”

Barret scoffs, moving closer to them. “If you’ve got a plan, Captain, then share it with the group, why don’t you?”

“Man, I don’t have a damn plan!” Cid runs a hand through his hair, groaning. “Just been doin’ a lotta thinkin’ lately. Been feelin’ introspective.”

“Introspective?” Charlie repeats. 

“You ain’t the only one who knows fancy words, okay?”

“No, I’ve been thinking, too,” Cloud interrupts them, before Charlie can giggle at the smug look Cid gives her. “About everything. It feels like the world is so wide open, and no matter where I go or what I do . . . nothing will change.”

“Maybe.” Cid doesn’t sound too convinced of it, however. “I used to think the planet was huge, but from outer space . . . lookin’ down at it from that escape pod, I realized how small it really is. And Sephiroth . . . festerin’ inside of it like a sickness, floatin’ in the dark in the middle of this infinite universe. Someone’s gotta protect it. And that someone is us.”

When he notices Charlie watching him, he puffs his chest out, as he’s wont to do. It makes her smile, and his enthusiasm makes her feel hopeful and confident that he’s right. “So what’s the plan?” she asks him after he fails to elaborate. 

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told you, I ain’t got one yet.”

“I might have an idea, in the meantime,” Nanaki speaks up, padding forward on light paws and sitting down beside Charlie’s legs. “We still have the Huge Materia. We need to put it somewhere safe, and I can’t think of a safer place than with Grandfather.”

Charlie tenses, turning very quickly to look down upon Nanaki. “In Cosmo Canyon?”

“Indeed.” Nanaki smiles, as much as he can for a creature such as himself. “He may be able to offer us some insight while we’re there, as well.”

He leaves the unspoken part hanging between himself and Charlie. A chance to visit her mother, to receive that closure she’s been so desperate for. It almost feels like the end of her journey, the end of a lifetime of wondering. It would be bittersweet to find that end. 

“Okay,” Cloud tells them, nodding. His eyes flick towards Charlie, like already knows what she’s thinking. “We’ll go to Cosmo Canyon first.”

* * *

She can’t help but feel anxious as the _Highwind_ sets off for Cosmo Canyon. 

She paces the length of her quarters, heart racing. She doesn’t know why she feels this way, because it’s not like she’s meeting her mother all over again. Her mother is dead, and Reeve had told her so through Cait Sith. She had missed her opportunity to go to Cosmo Canyon, she thought, but now she’s received her second chance. 

Just like her rocket. Just like Cid. Things Charlie once felt gone forever to her, dreams long dead, suddenly being revived by a series of most unfortunate and coincidental events that will, inevitably, lead to the planet’s destruction. 

Charlie is relieved when Cait Sith saunters into the room, always so light and graceful on his feet. “Feelin’ okay?” he asks, watching her pace for a moment before clambering up onto the bed. 

“I’m nervous,” she admits, crossing the room to close the door. “I can’t think straight these days.” Wringing her hands together, she walks to the window, watching the ground fly by beneath them. “I just feel so helpless.”

“Hey, we’ll think of a plan.” Cait Sith doesn’t have half the confidence in his voice that Cid did. Charlie can’t help but share that doubt, that skepticism. “There’s gotta be a way.”

She turns around to face the cat, looking at him curiously for a few moments. “How does that work, exactly? I mean . . . how do _you_ work?”

“Ah, it’s a whole thing,” the toy shrugs modestly. “Rather tell you in person.”

Charlie smiles at him, turning away again. She can see the shadows of the distant mountains from her window. “What do you think would happen to me if I went back to Midgar?”

“I don’t think your brother would execute you,” he replies, voice stiff and formal again. “But I think he would be content knowing you were in the city, and carrying out your duties as vice president.”

“And if I came back . . .” she begins again, looking away from the window and turning her face away from Cait Sith. “Could I see you again?”

There’s a long, discouraging silence that follows her question. Charlie can’t say she doesn’t understand, but the disappointment is a hard thing to swallow. And then he says, “You’d come all this way just to turn around now and go back to Midgar?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like I’m doing anything here. I can’t change anything here.” She turns around to face him again, biting down on her lip. “The least I could do is bring comfort to people before Meteor hits.”

“You’re running away.”

“I’m not running away,” she answers quickly, with a scoff. “You know I don’t belong here. They know who I am—”

“And we all came back for you in Junon. No one was willing to leave you behind, even knowing who you were.”

It must be a combination of the stress Meteor has inflicted on her and the idea of seeing her mother’s grave that causes tears to well up in her eyes. “You could never understand what—”

“I could, if you talked to me, if you trusted me.” Cait Sith stands up on the bed, and she hates him for that moment. She hates that Reeve is hiding behind a toy, unable to have this conversation with her himself. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Because I had nowhere else to go,” she says, surprised the answer comes to her so easily. “And I think they’re doing a good thing, but . . . I’m not one of them. I’m still Shinra, and I know that when they look at me, they’re remembering everything that my father’s company ever did to crush their livelihoods.”

Though Cloud and Vincent are Shinra, as well (former Shinra-men, they would argue), they were given the choice to give it up, a choice that Charlie will never have. Without Shinra, they are still capable of fighting and saving the planet, while Charlie will always be powerless and useless without the company behind her. 

“I have to go back and do what I can in the final days. It’s the only way I’ll be able to help.” She wraps her arms around herself. “But it’s . . . difficult to say good-bye.”

Cait Sith is quiet again for a few seconds, thinking. “What if you didn’t go back to Midgar at all? What if you went somewhere else instead? Somewhere that I can assure that you’ll be safe?”

“Like where?”

“Junon,” he answers simply. “If the world is coming to an end, might as well spend it with your family, right?”

Charlie smiles, but it doesn’t stay for long. “Why didn’t you tell me about Veld?”

“It was better that way,” he tells her, reminding her of someone else she knows. “It was better for him.”

* * *

Cosmo Canyon is rustic and quaint, but not displeasing altogether, carved into and built on top of red rock that makes everything look bright orange with both Meteor and the sun beating down on the village. 

When she looks up to the very top of the village, she can see the observatory that Nanaki had told her about, its massive telescope pointed right at Meteor. 

Cait Sith tells her that it’s a scientific community, and she might like to poke around and talk with others that share a love for space and the stars and the planet, but it’s the very last thing she feels like doing, especially when the residents start looking through their windows and filtering out of their homes to catch glimpses of Nanaki and his odd group of friends. 

She finds that a lot of eyes are drawn to _her_ , and it makes her anxious. Surely these people are aware of her identity, as she very much looks the part of a Shinra. Her father had been right about the “Shinra look” inherited by both of his children.

Nanaki leads them to the very top, to a small building in the shadow of the observatory where his grandfather has taken to living. Papers are scattered everywhere throughout, and several star charts line the walls. There is far more technology here than she’s seen throughout the entire village, though she hasn’t seen very much of it, and a lot of that technology is stamped with a very familiar insignia, and oftentimes the words _SHINRA RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT_ are stamped themselves. 

Bugenhagen is an old man, far older than she imagined, and he floats around on some sort of Shinra tech that she’s never seen before, that seems to hum as he hovers in front of her. 

“Welcome, friends,” he announces to them all, smiling down at Nanaki, who leads them further into the home, into a side room that’s less cluttered than the kitchen area. “I am sorry we must meet under such dire circumstances.”

“We’ve come to seek your wisdom, Grandfather,” Nanaki tells him, sitting back on his hind legs. 

“Ho ho hoo! Is that so?” The old man’s eyes sweep across the room, taking in all of their faces. “Nanaki, I see you have brought a new friend with you. Are you not going to introduce us?”

“Yes, Grandfather. This is Charlotte Shinra. Charlie, this is my grandfather, Bugenhagen.”

Bugenhagen floats right to her, extending his hand and looking delighted. Charlie shakes his hand firmly. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Nanaki speaks very highly of you,” she says. 

“And _you_ , of course,” Bugenhangen replies, smiling warmly at her before releasing her hand. “Your mother was always so certain that you would find your way here eventually. We spoke of it the last time your friends came here, the first time. I expect you’ve been informed?”

“Yes,” she answers, though it’s not an answer she wished to give. “Cait Sith told me. And your sentiment . . . it was very lovely. Thank you.”

“Of course. When we all finish here, I would be very happy to show you the things of hers that I have kept. She would want you to have them, I think.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Once again, she’s left with a horrible sense of anticipation. She can hardly focus on anything anyone is saying, and when Bugenhagen asks her to look into the deepest reaches of her heart, she comes up short and empty-handed, and it only serves to make her feel worse. 

It comes down to Aerith, in the end. It comes down to her sacrifice, to her interrupted efforts when it came to stopping Sephiroth. It comes down to the City of the Ancients, where Charlie remembers feeling the world stop as Sephiroth drove his sword right through her. 

It doesn’t take long to come up with a temporary plan. The Huge Materia is able to be stored safely in Bugenhagen’s laboratory, and the old man decides to go north with them, to revisit the place where Aerith died.

“You’re comin’, too, ain’t you?” Cid asks her quietly as they all agree to restock on supplies and get some rest in before the journey. 

She agrees, but she can’t say why. Maybe she wants to find out as much as she can about how to save the planet. Maybe she just wants to be with these people for a little bit longer, just enough to prepare a decent good-bye. 

Charlie is left behind as her friends take their leave of Bugenhagen’s study, and when it’s just them, Bugenhagen turns to face her, hands held together. “Are you ready, Miss Shinra?”

_No, and I never will be._ But she can’t think of a better reason than that to visit her mother’s grave now. 

The grave happens to be on the edge of a red rock cliff, overlooking the canyons and valley below, and the ocean in the far distance. She has to climb stairs that have been carved into the rock-face, following after Bugenhagen at a slow and steady pace, the air growing thinner the higher she climbs. 

“Your mother, Miss Shinra, was one of the best dedicated planetologists I have ever met in my life,” he explains to her, “and it is hardly a surprise to me that you have just ventured into outer space in a rocket of your own design.”

“Yes, sir,” she says flatly, unsure what else to say.

“She would be very proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you remember much of her?”

“No, sir. She left when I was very little. I didn’t even know she was here.”

Bugenhagen hums. He doesn’t sound surprised to hear this. “She may not have told you she was here, but know that she did not forget about you or your brother.”

“That’s very good to hear,” she replies, pursing her lips and climbing the last few stairs. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

The old man takes his leave of her, giving her some privacy, as they approach the grave. 

Whatever flowers Cait Sith had placed here are long gone. Instead, there is a lone tombstone, the weather worn rock making it difficult to make out the inscriptions from far away. When she kneels in front of it and brushes off some of the dust, it’s easier to read. For the moment, the only sound is the occasional rushing of the wind.

_E.T.G_

_1956_ — _0006_

_DEDICATED PLANETOLOGIST_

_DEVOTED DAUGHTER_

_BELOVED MOTHER_

It’s inadequate, she thinks. _Her_ mother, who had helped shape her into the woman she is today, receiving such a vague and plain tombstone upon a rocky cliff . . . it seems insulting. The gravestone seems uncared for, and tears burn in her eyes as she tries to knuckle them away like a little girl. 

“Why didn’t you come back for us?” she whispers to her mother, wondering if she can hear her, somewhere deep within the Lifestream. 

Charlie remembers little of her mother. Sometimes she remembers words and phrases, her imagination unable to conjure up the rest of the scene, unable to remember the context of it all. Sometimes she dreams of her mother’s face, the image flickering when she wakes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?” she cries, holding her face in her hands. “I would have come . . . I would have come to see you . . .”

Perhaps it’s better this way. Perhaps it’s better that her mother will never be forced to see what happened to her children, to see the way the company had twisted them, turned them into people they otherwise would never be. Perhaps it’s better that her mother be spared the burden of that guilt, of that knowing. 

She kneels before her mother’s grave for a long time. She watches the sun rise to its fullest, and watches it slowly begin to sink in the sky. So deep in her thoughts, Charlie doesn’t hear the pattering of feet against the dirt until it’s right behind her. 

It’s easy for Cait Sith to climb up her side, wrapping his little arms around her neck and clinging to her. His furry little face nuzzles against her cheek and neck, and Charlie finds herself clinging to him, as well, holding him like a child against her. It’s unsurprising that he would make his way up here to see how she’s doing, but what does surprise her is the additional hand that comes down on her back. 

Cid kneels at her other side, the owner of the hand that splayed against the middle of her back, and he isn’t alone. The shifting of sabatons gives away Vincent’s position right behind her, and Cloud, Tifa, and Barret have come with flowers to place at the base of her mother’s grave. Nanaki howls at the impossibly huge Meteor coming towards them, and Yuffie comes up directly behind Charlie to hug her. 

Charlie buries her face into Cait Sith’s fur, crying quietly as her friends sit in silence with her. The breeze tickles the back of her neck. The wind seems to whisper to her, speaking words unintelligible into her ear. The tiny arms around her neck tighten, and while she knows he’s only a robot, he feels real enough in the moment. 

It means more to her than she can say.


	65. Chapter 65

Charlie decides to stay behind on board the _Highwind_ when Cloud takes Bugenhagen and his friends to the heart of the City of the Ancients. 

She doesn’t think she’s ready to set foot in that place again. She doesn’t want the memories to come rushing back so vividly, the memories of her father and the sword that had pinned him to his desk, and of Aerith and the easy way Sephiroth’s sword had slipped through her ribs, of Tseng in the Temple of the Ancients and the way his blood had stained her perfect skin. 

Cid and Vincent stay behind, as well, to keep an eye on the airship, but they mostly keep to themselves on the bridge while she locks herself in her room with Cait Sith (the moogle stands guard outside of her door to prevent anyone who may come knocking), crying hoarsely into her pillow. 

Sometimes, when she looks into Cait Sith’s face, she feels like they know each other, like they’ve known each other for a long time. It feels odd, thinking such things about a robot, a toy, something that’s not even _human_ , but sometimes . . . sometimes Cait Sith seems to feel, to think or act or joke on his own.

Sometimes there are things she notices about the cat that are completely unfamiliar to her, that are not at all consistent with Reeve’s own mannerisms. 

She can’t help but wonder how much the cat knows about her, if he knows everything Reeve knows about her, and maybe that’s why Cait Sith seems so sad for her. It’s an embarrassing thought, the possibility that this little toy cat might know every little thing about her, down to what she looks like without her clothes on. 

But that doesn’t matter right now, not while he’s giving her what comfort a three-foot-tall robot can. 

When he smooths her hair back, starting at her temple and pushing her hair behind her ears, it seems so like Reeve that she comes to the conclusion they _must_ be of the same mind, of the same consciousness. How else could Reeve command the toy to do something so sentimental and specific? How else could Reeve instruct the toy to do something so unique to _him?_

It reminds her of the night her father died, and the way she had sobbed until she couldn’t speak, and the way she had spent all night curled up in Reeve’s lap, sleeping with her head against his chest, her face nuzzled against his neck. Unimaginable comfort, something no one else has ever been able to give her before. 

It may not be the real thing, but it’s the closest to Reeve she might ever get again. If she closes her eyes, it _could_ be Reeve.

“I want to see you again, Reeve,” she says after a long time, still sniffling and hiccuping, hardly able to see Cait Sith’s face through swollen eyes. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to spend my last days with you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but when he speaks again, it’s in _his_ voice. “I want to see you again, too.”

“If I go to Junon, will you come to see me?”

Another long pause. “Yes.”

Out of habit, Charlie reaches out to touch his face, as if it’s really him beside her. Her fingers brush over the matted fur on Cait Sith’s face, and she lowers her hand again, embarrassed. “Do you want to see what Bugenhagen gave me? I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Sure.”

She rolls out of bed, picking up her bag and pulling out the box. It’s similar to the box her father had kept his letters in and the box Charlie had kept under her bed for so long, engraved with her initials in gold. Rufus has one just like it, but he had never really been sentimental enough to keep anything in it. 

All of her mother’s research she had agreed to leave at Cosmo Canyon. Bugenhagen had promised that she would always be welcome to return whenever she wanted to look at it, though it had seemed a little too falsely optimistic for her. 

She won’t need research if she’s dead in a few days. 

Charlie sits back down beside Cait Sith, sticking a key into the box and letting it click open for her. Paper springs out at the loss of weight upon it, the box very full of things folded and written and clipped together. 

There are several old magazine covers that are all folded into squares. All of the covers feature Charlie or Rufus or Charlie _and_ Rufus (though her mother had seemingly chosen to ignore the more provocative photo shoots Charlie had done).

She finds a few old pictures, pictures from when they were still a happy family. Her mother holding a smiling, baby-Charlie above her head. Her mother in front of the beach with both of her children, all of them holding hands. Charlie and Rufus, her brother with his thumb in his mouth and clinging to his sister’s dress with his free hand.

They’re aged and dusty, as if they haven’t been touched in years. She hadn’t wanted to know anything more about her mother from Bugenhagen. It was enough to see her grave, to see the happy place in which she decided to spend the rest of her life. She didn’t want to hear the horrifying details of her mother’s deteriorating mental state.

“Your mother . . .” Cait Sith points to one of the pictures, the one of her mother by the orange-tinted beach with Charlie and Rufus, her hair lifted by the breeze. “You have the same dimple.”

She’s never noticed before. 

There is some jewelry within, a string of pearls and some gold necklaces. Charlie lifts a smaller box from within, opening it to reveal a beautiful pair of pear-shaped diamond earrings. They’re the kind that only her father would be able to afford, because Rufus had bought her earrings very similar to these, boasting about their steep price tag of nearly one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand gil. 

People don’t just _buy_ earrings like this. 

She considers switching them out with the diamond studs in her ears, but decides against it. They’re impractical, and Tseng would make it a point to tell her so, if he were here. 

Charlie is quiet for a moment, sighing heavily through her nose. “What do you think I would have been like?” she asks softly, closing the box and putting it aside, not wanting to look any longer. There is nothing inside that will bring her comfort. “If I had left Midgar with my mother?”

“I think you would have gone to outer space a long time ago,” Reeve confesses, and he _laughs_ through Cait Sith. It’s quiet laughter, to be sure, but it’s his, and it catches her so off guard that all she can do is look at the cat with wide eyes. “And I would never have met you, but . . . I suppose if it meant sparing you the beatings, then I suppose that’s a fair enough price to pay.”

Charlie can’t help but scoff. She quickly rearranges her face to look apologetic, not wanting to make him think she’s laughing at him. “I would do it all again, if it meant meeting you.”

Even though he says nothing, Charlie knows him too well. She can picture the flush creeping up the back of his neck, squirming slightly. 

“What are you doing right now? Where are you?”

“In my office. I’m supposed to be preparing for a meeting.”

“Is Rufus okay?” she asks quickly, unable to stop herself. “Is he doing all right?”

“He’s fine. Don’t worry, Charlotte. I’m doing what I can for him. He’s been . . . more receptive to me than usual.”

Charlie smiles, hardly able to wait to see him. Already she’s anxious, nearly shaking with anticipation. “Thank you.”

“Now . . . would you like to listen in?”

She smiles wider, sitting up a little straighter on the bed. “Oh, yes _please_.”

* * *

He understands what Charlie meant when she told him she couldn’t think straight.

Meteor is growing closer and closer to Midgar, and time is running out. It’s becoming more difficult to organize his priorities, unsure of where he should be during what may be his final days, unsure how much he should be doing. 

And in the midst of his problems in Midgar (and Kalm), Reeve now has to deal with the fact that Charlotte’s in the middle of her own personal crisis that’s taken hold of deep-seeded paranoia and insecurity. He knows very well that she shouldn’t be forgiven so easily, but the fact is, she has nowhere else to go.

He doesn’t really believe that she’ll go to Junon. If he were to stick her in a small apartment hidden in the middle of the city with Tseng, Charlie would only become restless, eager for a new adventure, something to prove herself. Or perhaps she’ll be content to be with people she cares about again. 

Reeve can’t say for certain. Charlie’s changed a lot since beginning her journey with Avalanche, and he has, as well. 

It would be sweet to see her again, but the idea of Charlie’s budding relationship with Cid Highwind lingers in the back of his mind. 

He has to remind himself that it doesn’t really matter. There may not be a future to worry about, and he’s willing to put aside any differences (even his anger and frustration and jealousy) if it means spending a few more days with her. 

Through the president’s office windows, Meteor mocks them. 

To his credit, Rufus has taken the crisis in stride. Reeve isn’t entirely certain how the late president would have faced such an unprecedented threat, but surely it would not be with the same arrogance and confidence, always so seemingly level-headed and cool. 

However, Reeve isn’t certain Rufus is going about it the right way. 

“Sir, this is a _terrible_ idea. We have no idea whether or not the cannon can handle the output from the reactors, and we don’t know how it will affect the city. Without knowing the risks this poses, I don’t think I’m comfortable entrusting this responsibility on the shoulders of an engine—”

“That’s why I’m entrusting this job to _you_ , Reeve,” Rufus tells him, unsettlingly calm. Ever since Junon, the president has been relatively polite towards him, but it’s likely out of desperation, a desire for allies. “It will be your job to adjust the reactor’s output, to ensure that the cannon isn’t overloaded.”

“Mr. President, that cannon could wipe out an entire sector if we’re not careful, possibly the entire city—”

“If you’re incapable of getting the job done, Reeve, then there are a thousand men to replace you with,” Scarlet sneers at him, shrinking slightly at the cold look that Rufus shoots her. “In a few days, we might all be dead anyway. A sector of Midgar is a small price to pay.”

“Once the cannon blows Sephiroth to bits, the people will never doubt Shinra again,” Heidegger adds, smiling through his thick beard. “And once Sephiroth is dead, Meteor will die with him!”

“And Weapon? How do we know the cannon will kill Sephiroth?” Reeve scoffs when he receives no answer, looking helplessly at Rufus. “Mr. President, you can’t possibly go through with this! There must be another way!”

Rufus ignores him. “What are the chances that the shells will reach the barrier?”

“I’m absolutely certain that they’ll reach the barrier,” Scarlet answers, one hand on her hip, looking smug. “Don’t listen to the director, Mr. President. The Sister Ray is Shinra’s most powerful weapon, and will either save this planet, or simply speed up the inevitable. Regardless, it will give the people hope.”

She and Heidegger laugh, like it’s funny. Don’t they realize the looming threat? Don’t they realize the severity of the situation?

“Do you have another solution, Reeve?” Rufus asks, not unkindly. He even waits patiently for an answer.

“We need to begin mass evacuations of the city. The undercity will be the safest place for those unable to leave Midgar.”

“It will take days to evacuate the entire city. See to it that a warning is issued. We can’t afford to waste time. I want the Sister Ray prepared for when you’re finished.” Rufus turns to Scarlet and Heidegger again. “The cannon is not fired until I receive word from the director, is that clear?”

Heidegger looks on the verge of disagreeing, but eventually concedes defeat. “Yes, sir.”

It’s only when he’s walking back down the hallway, alone, that he can hear Charlie speaking to him again, making his head throb. 

_Always thinking about the people,_ her voice says, gentle and sweet. _I’ve always admired that about you._

Reeve holds his hand up to his face to hide his mouth, fidgeting with the beard on his face. Despite not looking at her face-to-face, she’s still able to make him blush. “You need to call Cloud and tell him what’s going on,” he whispers, lowering his hand to force a smile at a passing administrative assistant who looks warily at him. 

_I will._ He thinks it’s safe enough to have Cait Sith take back over, but then Charlie adds, _I can’t believe you never told me about this. Imagine all the fun we might have had with it._

“Don’t be filthy, Charlotte,” he says quickly, feeling flustered. “He may not be human, but he’s still able to hear everything you’re saying for himself.”

_I haven’t said anything filthy. Do you want me to?_

He blushes harder as he makes for his office, hoping to lock himself inside before anyone wonders why he’s talking to himself and bright red. For a moment, it’s like things are back to normal, and it’s that sense of normalcy that almost causes him to play along. 

Almost.

“Charlotte, please . . .” 

_I’m only teasing you, Reeve. I’m sorry._

Wanting one last look at her while he can, Reeve quickly sits down at his desk, pulling up the stream of Cait Sith’s view, his heart pounding. He doesn’t know why. He can’t say if it’s because of Meteor, or if it’s because of the Sister Ray, or if it’s because he needs to stop worrying about what Charlie looks like right now and start evacuating the top-side of Midgar. 

Regardless, she still knocks the breath out of him. 

Charlotte is lying back on the bed, one arm over her head as she looks right at Cait Sith. Her shirt is riding up slightly, showing off a sliver of her milky skin. If he didn’t know any better, she might be trying to seduce him. Perhaps she is, because he’s far too familiar with that sly and coquettish smile of hers. 

“I have to go, Charlie,” he tells her, running a hand through his hair and looking down at the watch on his wrist. “I’m counting on you to tell Cloud about the Sister Ray.”

“Don’t worry,” she replies, voice filtering through the speakers, waving a flippant hand at him. “I’ll tell him. You can count on me _._ ”

“I know,” he says, smiling. “I know.”

* * *

“Cloud is on his way back.” Charlie hangs up the call and gives the phone back to Cid, who slips it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “They’re almost here. We could go meet them.”

“Good idea, honey. Let’s get this ship off the ground.”

Cid gives the rookie-pilot a curt nod. The pilot immediately begins the preparations as Charlie paces across the bridge, a small crease between her eyebrows. It makes him nervous, seeing her so troubled. Something is clearly wrong, something she isn’t telling him. 

He can’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the Shinra spy, who had been with Charlie in her bedroom ever since Cloud and his friends departed for their return to the City of the Ancients with Bugenhagen. 

It’s a few minutes after the airship touches down to pick up Cloud and the others that it lurches abruptly, the ground quaking beneath the ship. 

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Cid snaps at the pilot, who pulls his hands away from the controls and holds them up in defense. 

“That wasn’t me, Captain!”

The airship continues to tremble, knocking everyone off balance as they struggle to get the ship off the ground again. 

“Captain, we’re picking up a strange signal!” says one of the crewmembers, looking around wildly before finding Cait Sith and his moogle sitting unresponsive against the back wall of the bridge. “From . . . him . . . ?”

“Cait, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Cid asks him, but the cat doesn’t answer. Growling and hissing obscenities through his teeth, he starts for the robot. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him. He’s probably reportin’ back right now, tellin’ the president all ‘bout what we just learned—”

“Cid, leave him be!” Charlie urges, stepping between him and Cait Sith, holding her arms out. “He isn’t spying on us!”

“The fuck is he to you?” He tries to move around her, angry at himself for being so jealous over a fucking robotic cat and its stuffed toy, but it stings that Charlie hadn’t sought _him_ out for comfort, despite all he’s done for her lately. “Lottie, lemme go—he’s had this comin’ for a long time—”

“It’s Weapon!”

Charlie freezes at the accented voice of Cait Sith, gripping Cid’s wrists tight as he continues to struggle against her. Her pale eyes go wide, the blood draining from her face. She releases him, turning around to face Cait Sith again. 

“Weapon came out of the sea—it’s heading straight for Midgar!”

Cloud hesitates. “What about the Sister Ray? That should stop Weapon, right?”

“It’s not ready yet,” the cat continues, holding his face in his hands. “Shinra’s going to evacuate the people living on the plate, just in case . . .”

Charlie goes to speak, but Barret quite literally pushes her out of the way to get into the cat’s face. She’s pushed right back into Cid, who bristles, wrapping an arm around her. “Hey!” he shouts at Barret. “That how you treat a lady?”

“I’ve seen for myself how _you_ treat women,” Barret growls, and Cid scowls at him. He’s been nothing but good to Charlie. Shera is a special case, one that Barret has no fucking right to bring up. “What the hell’s gonna happen to Marlene?”

“Don’t you worry about Marlene,” Cait Sith reassures him. “Marlene is safe, out of the city with Aerith’s mam.” 

Against his chest, Charlie slackens, a curious little expression forming on her face. There’s something she knows, something she isn’t saying, but there’s no time to worry about it. 

Barret turns back to face the front of the bridge, at ease with Cait Sith’s reassurances. The cat jumps down from off his steed, walking forward a few paces and throwing out his hands to either side of him. “Barret! You don’t have _anything_ to say?”

Barret puts a hand on his hip. For all Cid knows, he could be pouting. He makes a quiet little noise that makes him sound indifferent. “Like what?” 

“So as long as Marlene is safe, it doesn’t matter what happens to Midgar, is that right?” The cat curls his little hands into fists, stamping one of his little feet upon the metal ground. “I’ve been wantin’ to say this to you for a long time now, but when you blew up the first reactor, how many people do you think died?”

The breath leaves Charlie all at once. She squirms against Cid, who tries desperately to keep her calm. It doesn’t seem like she wants anything to do with him right now, despite having woken with a hand up his shirt only two mornings ago. 

Barret grits his teeth, lowering his head. “That was for the life of the planet,” he answers softly, but still gruff. “You gotta expect a few casualties.”

“A few?” Cait Sith repeats, scoffing loudly. “What d’you mean _a few?_ What may be a few to you is everything to those who died . . . they were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers!” He folds his skinny arms over his chest. “‘For the life of the planet’ . . . makes it sound real good, doesn’t it? No one’ll go against you, so you think you can just do whatever you want—”

“I don’t wanna hear that from no one in Shinra!” Barret shouts, turning back around and looking furious. “I don’t hear you sayin’ this to Charlie! She was the one who gave us the instructions for the bombs in the first place—”

“She’s at least acknowledged that she’s done wrong!” Cait Sith answers, shaking his head. His movements are jerky and unnatural, more robotic than ever. “She was one of the people caught in the first explosion!”

“Leave him alone, Barret!” Charlie suddenly yells, silencing both Barret and Cait Sith as they open their mouths to argue again. She finally breaks free of Cid’s grip, but he lets go of her reluctantly. He’s glad he isn’t the only one who looks mildly uncomfortable. “You have no idea what it’s like to work for my father’s company! You don’t understand—”

“Just like I said, huh. Birds of a feather . . .” Barret frowns at Charlie. “No doubt you’ve been in league together the entire time. I knew we shouldn’ta trusted some Shinra suit and the damn VP herself!” He walks up to Charlie, holding himself to his full height. “And I’ll bet a million goddamn gil that you know _exactly_ who he is, and knew the entire time—”

“That’s not true,” Cait Sith interrupts. “I’ve told you before that Charlie has nothin’ to do with this!”

“Do you know, Charlie?” Tifa asks, and everyone’s eyes immediately fix upon her face, including Cid’s. “Do you know who he is?”

“No,” Charlie answers right away, looking up into Cid’s face. “If I knew who he was, I would have told you. But I know he isn’t a bad person.”

Cid wants to believe her. She had spilled her soul to him two nights ago, every little thing she ever held close to her heart. She had been honest with him. 

“He’s right, Barret. What you did . . . what _we_ did . . .” Charlie sighs, chewing on her lower lip for a moment. “The reactor bombings were never about the planet for us. It was about getting revenge on Shinra for you, and it was about rebelling against my father for me.”

“Barret knows what we did,” Tifa tells them all, holding her hands behind her back. “We’ll never forget it. Right?” And then she turns to Cait Sith, and Charlie moves quickly to the cat’s side, for almost no apparent reason. “And you can’t quit the company because you’re worried about the people in Midgar, right?”

“I owe the people of Midgar a great deal,” Charlie continues, looking imploringly at Cloud and extending a hand down to Cait Sith, who allows himself to be pulled up on her shoulder, his head hung low. “Midgar is my home, and those are my people, and I have to go back.”

“I thought we agreed you were gonna go back to Junon?” Cait Sith says into her ear, giving her head a gentle tap. 

“Hold on!” Yuffie scoffs, putting both hands on her hips. “You were just gonna _leave_ without even saying good-bye to any of us?”

Charlie opens her mouth to speak again, faltering at the last minute. “Wh—what?”

Yuffie looks offended, which isn’t really new, but it’s odd to see her so genuinely hurt by something Charlie has done personally. “I thought we were _friends_ , and you were just gonna go off to Junon without even talking it over with us?”

“I can’t stand by and watch Weapon destroy Midgar. I could never live with myself if I did nothing.”

“And what’re you gonna do in Midgar? Fight Weapon yourself? With what, Charlie? Your cute little handgun?”

“Well, I . . .” Charlie pouts, and it’s fucking adorable. She catches sight of him smiling at her, and the grin is quickly wiped from his face. “That’s my home—”

“Guess we didn’t mean shit to you all this time, huh?” Barret asks, while Yuffie nods vigorously beside him. 

“That’s not it!” she protests. “I just . . . didn’t realize that you guys felt that way.”

“C’mon, Shinra, I know I talk a lotta shit, but you’re all right.” Barret moves forward and claps a massive hand onto Charlie’s skinny shoulder. “After everything we’ve been through lately, ‘course you’re our friend.”

For a minute, there’s silence. Charlie looks up into Barret’s face, a flush on her cheeks. 

“Okay, let’s go!” Cloud finally says, flashing everyone a small smile. “We’ll just have to beat Weapon ourselves, that way you don’t have to go back to Midgar.”

“Oh, really?” Charlie gasps, a hand over her heart. “You would do that?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Cid holds his hands out, surprised that everyone seems pleased with the idea, even Charlie, who fucking beams at Cloud. “You’ve seen that thing, haven’t you? You really think we got a chance of winnin’?”

“I don’t know,” Cloud says honestly. “But that doesn’t mean we should just let him go. If the cannon isn’t ready to fire, then we have to do something. We’re going to Midgar!”

* * *

Cid lingers until the others have left the airship. 

Cait Sith had decided to stay behind with Charlie, though it wasn’t her decision to stay behind at all. 

For a few long moments, they just look at each other, alone on the deck of the _Highwind_ , of their airship. When he turns to leave, she reaches out and grabs his sleeve, stopping him from climbing down the ladder. Cid stops, his weapon in his right hand. 

“Wait,” she breathes, pulling him closer, away from the side of the _Highwind._ “You don’t have to do this.”

“Worried ‘bout me?” he grins, teeth bared in a crooked smile. “Don’t worry, baby. I ain’t about to die that easily.”

Charlie inhales deeply, releasing his sleeve. “Be careful.” The idea of him not coming back frightens her more than she can say. 

“I’m always careful,” he murmurs, moving closer to her. There’s no one around to watch, and there are no faces in the windows looking down at them. “Hey. There’s somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me.”

“There are a lot of things I haven’t told you,” she tells him, raising her eyebrows. 

“Fine, fine. Tell me later. I gotta go, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses her quickly on the corner of her mouth, a routine little thing, like it’s habit by now, like they’ve been doing it for years. It’s slightly forced, strained, and tense. It’s not really the proper good-bye she would have liked, and the idea makes her squirm. 

She hadn’t been confident enough to move things forward when they slept on the deck a few nights ago, ashamed and flustered when he tried to stick a hand down the front of her shorts. She didn’t want him to think he was just some kind of rebound for her, and she didn’t want him to think she didn’t respect Reeve. 

She didn’t want him to think of her as . . . dirty, used, tainted, soiled, all the words that she typically reserved for herself after her encounters with Rufus. 

“I’ll be back, okay?” he promises, climbing down the ladder so the only thing visible is his head. “Wait for me, princess.”

The idea that he still likes her is baffling, in truth, especially knowing all the things he knows now. Charlie holds up a hand in good-bye as he continues the descent, and she watches from the very front of the ship’s deck as he runs to join his friends, long strides and arms pumping and groin-first, just as goofy and arrogant as he is while strutting about the _Highwind._

In another life, she would love him the way he deserves, unrestrainedly and unabashedly. In another life, she would go back to Rocket Town with him for her last days, making love in his home until she forgot about the dying world around them. 

But the dream is over, and whatever fantasy they had indulged themselves in is over, too. The rocket launch had not only brought them both closure, but gave them the ability to move on, and Charlie hopes it makes him less bitter, less angry.

She thinks of Shera, waiting at home for Cid to come back to her, alive and well. 

Charlie knows the feeling. She remembers late nights spent curled up in bed, waiting for Reeve to come home from Headquarters to slide into bed long after she fell asleep. She remembers waiting for her Father to come home after weeks of being absent. 

She turns back towards the door that will lead her back inside, just as Weapon’s steps shake the planet. 

* * *

Its screams rattle the _Highwind_. 

Its shrieks penetrate her skull, and she has to cover her ears. She and Cait Sith sit huddled in the room she’s claimed as her own, the window facing Midgar and the battle with Weapon that’s taking place a few miles across the barren landscape. 

Not for the first time, Charlie wishes she could fight. 

All she has is the gun Vincent gave her, but it’s not like she would be able to do any damage to Weapon with it. Even with all of her friends going at it, she’s doubtful and frightened, afraid that they’ll all fall in battle and leave Midgar to its fate. 

It’s a city on lockdown, Cait Sith tells her. They aren’t allowing civilians entry anymore, and if people haven’t fled the city already, they may never get another chance to. Entry will likely be impossible, and Junon is the better option. 

Her friends are in Junon. She has allies in Junon. It would be easy to sneak her into the city, the last place Rufus would think to look for her. Going back to Midgar would only be a death sentence, but Charlie thinks she would risk it to see Reeve again. It feels like it’s been so long, and with a chance that Meteor will touchdown within a few days, she needs to go back. 

Moving onto her knees, she pushes herself up to look out the window, half-afraid of what she might see. 

Weapon stands tall, bigger than the Shinra Building, which looms high in the background, framed against the orange, evening sky. At its feet, jumping around it and climbing up it, are her friends, weapons still drawn and all of them still standing, putting up a fierce and ferocious battle against the monster that might put a premature end to Midgar. 

The wait had been the worst. The heavy, rhythmic, quaking footsteps of Weapon had been like a funeral dirge, all of her friends waiting along the rough coastline, waiting for it to draw nearer. 

Charlie slides back down against the wall, looking to her right at the cat that’s stayed behind with her. “What did you do with Marlene?”

“He moved her and Elmyra to a house in Kalm,” Cait Sith explains. “Don’t worry, they’re safe. He takes good care of ‘em.”

When she realizes that it’s no longer Reeve she’s talking to, she doesn’t speak again.

* * *

Heidegger and Scarlet are waiting in the main conference room when Reeve throws the doors open. 

The city is in utter chaos. Cloud and his friends are fending off Weapon a few miles away from Midgar, more than half the top-side residents refuse to leave their homes, there is only one train taking evacuees down to the slums where conflict is already breaking out, and his two colleagues would rather spend time waiting around for their inevitable deaths, laughing together instead of trying to help. 

“Are you finished giving false hope to the people now, Reeve?” Scarlet asks him, one eyebrow cocked as she looks down at her nails. “The Sister Ray is ready to fire?”

“Yes,” Reeve answers desperately, knowing that it’s their only chance at defeating Weapon. 

The monster seems to be trying to dive back into the sea, but it will rise again, he knows, and Midgar will not be safe until Weapon is destroyed. If there was another way to coexist, Reeve doesn’t think he would be against the idea, but Weapon will not cease to exist until Sephiroth and Meteor are gone from the planet. 

He had instructed Charlie to call their friends back with the phone they had left behind with her. They had done a fine enough job at defending the city, and as Charlie takes over patching everyone up, Reeve turns his attention back towards the cannon. 

Rufus is still in the president’s office, he knows, overlooking Midgar as the sun begins to set, casting the cityscape into glowing shadows. 

Heidegger leans over the intercom system upon the table, pressing a button with a fat finger. “The preparations for the Sister Ray have been completed, sir.”

“ _Where is Reeve?_ ” Rufus’s voice echoes back. 

Both Heidegger and Scarlet scowl at him, but Reeve steps forward. “Here, sir. I’ve done all I can.”

“ _Then fire._ ”

* * *

Charlie stands sentry at the bow of the airship, with Cait Sith perched upon her shoulder. 

In the night, Midgar seems to spring to life all over again. Each reactor seems to burst with energy, sending up smog and bright green light into the darkness. And then, within the span of fifteen seconds, everything seems to go dark. 

“What’s going on?” she whispers to the cat. The only noise is the violent crashing of the water that’s pushed around by Weapon’s slow movements and the howling of the wind in her ears. 

“I don’t understand. It should have—”

There’s a deafening _boom!_ that might be heard around the world. The force of it seems to shake the airship, though Midgar remains shrouded in darkness. From the dark city shoots a blinding flash of light and energy, that hurls towards the coastline at a rapid pace.

Weapon seems to recognize the situation, and the danger, it has found itself in. 

“ _No!_ ”

The word is pulled from her the moment she realizes what’s going on, the moment Weapon seems to straighten up and turn, facing the city. It comes out a hoarse scream, desperate and pleading. 

More blasts of light and particles of energy are sent shooting towards the cannon’s blast, headed straight for a city with millions of people still living there. 

Despite this, the energy ray is not deterred, and instead of being stopped by Weapon, it goes _through_ it, throwing the monster backwards until it topples onto its back, screaming in pain and, after a moment, it ceases to move or make a sound. 

The energy ray continues north, due north, until its goal is no longer visible. Charlie understands, however, and speaks to Cait Sith again, gripping the rails of the deck with a white-knuckle grip. “He’s trying to reach the Northern Crater,” she says.

Cait Sith hums in return before tensing completely, jerking awkwardly before falling off her shoulder completely, limp to the floor. 

“Cait!” Charlie reaches down to pick him back up, holding him like a baby in her arms and giving him a slight shake. “Cait Sith!”

She’s distracted by another explosion that causes her to shield her eyes. While most of Weapon’s shots fired have gone over and above Midgar, a few seem to have hit their target. 

There’s only one building as tall as that in Midgar, and Charlie watches in horror as the topmost floors of the Shinra Building erupt into flames, parts of the top crumbling down to the plate below. For a moment, she’s paralyzed with fear, hoping that Cait Sith’s sudden shutdown has nothing to do with the fact that Weapon has just destroyed part of the Shinra Building. 

“Cait,” she rasps, shaking him harder, needing to hear his voice or Reeve’s voice or anyone’s voice, _something_ to let her know he’s all right. “Cait, please wake up.” She looks back towards Midgar, the burning top of the Shinra Building visible from their position in the sky. “No . . . no, no, no, no . . .”

“Lottie . . .”

“Take me into the city,” she tells Cid, looking down at the toy in her arms. “Take me into Midgar _now._ ”

“Lottie, there ain’t nothin’ we can do now,” he says again, kneeling beside her and squeezing her shoulder. 

“We have to go to the Northern Crater,” Cloud announces to everyone, “and see what happened to Sephiroth.”

“You can’t go back there now,” Cid tries to reassure her. “Shinra Building’s gonna go down any minute, and when it does—”

“You don’t _know that!_ ” she screams, as inconsolable as she was when Tseng lay dying in the Temple of the Ancients. She even cradles Cait Sith to her breast, just as she did Tseng. “Cait Sith, please wake up—please wake up—”

“He’s probably just malfunctioned, honey—”

“No,” she whines, shaking the cat harder, little arms and legs still limp. “Cait Sith, _wake up_ , please.” Charlie brings the cat up to her face, putting her mouth very close to one of his pointed ears, speaking in a low voice. “Reeve, please be alive, please talk to me—”

Everyone gasps as Cait Sith suddenly springs to life, jumping right out of Charlie’s arms as if nothing has happened. “Why’re you cryin’, Charlie?” the cat asks with a smile, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “You’re not cryin’ over me, are you?”

“I thought . . .” Charlie shakes her head, sighing. “Never mind. What happened? Do you know where Rufus is? Is he safe?”

The cat jerks again, like he’s being electrocuted. His mouth opens and closes awkwardly, but no words come out, not in the sweet voice of the cat or Reeve’s own voice. Her heart starts to beat faster. That strikes Charlie as very ominous, frightening. Something is horribly wrong. 

“Please,” she whispers against his face, the fur tickling the tip of her nose. “Please be okay. I love you . . . I love you . . .”

* * *

_I love you . . . I love you . . ._

His head is pounding painfully, but her voice cuts through the myriad of horrible thoughts very clearly. He can’t make anything out but shadows, and the silvery hair of his beloved, looking down at him with the moon making her glow like some sort of angel, wide-eyed and worried. 

If he didn’t know any better, he might think he was dead. It takes him a moment to remember that Charlie isn’t looking down at _him,_ but at Cait Sith. 

At least his phone has survived the blast. 

The incessant ringing is what really causes him to stir. His phone must have spilled from his breast pocket, sitting a few inches from his ear. The room is stiflingly warm and smells of smoke. It reminds him of the night the first reactor had exploded, trapping him underneath the remains of the restaurant until Charlie had pulled him from the rubble, his little heroine. 

His cheek is pressed against the carpet, and when he opens his eyes, there is no indication as to how much time has passed since the blast. His eyes are slightly unfocused, and it takes him a minute to push himself to his hands and knees, coughing hoarsely. 

His head is pounding, and when he reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes, his palm comes away sticky with blood. The image of Charlie’s lovely face, crying over the robot in her arms, is stolen from him quickly as his current surroundings take priority.

Most of the ceiling has collapsed, and a pile of steel beams separates Reeve from Heidegger, who’s only just beginning to stir. While there are no flames coming from within the conference room, the topmost of the Shinra Building seems to be on fire. 

The windows of the conference room have been blown out and shattered, the glass scattered across the carpet in bits and pieces, and through the open windows, Reeve can hear the screams from down below. 

His phone won’t stop ringing, though the screen has shattered badly. The number that comes up is unrecognizable, not saved in his contacts. Trying to answer it with a broken screen, it takes a moment, but he finally puts it to his ear. 

“ _Director_ , _are you all right?_ ”

Not only is he surprised at the voice that comes through the phone, but he’s surprised that Tseng has heard what’s happened so quickly. “I think so. How did you—”

“ _I bugged your phone the last time you were in Junon. Listen, I’m in Midgar_ —”

“You’re in Midgar?” Reeve lifts his head, looking around for a sign of Scarlet as Heidegger climbs heavily to his feet, brushing himself off. 

“ _Where is the president?_ ” Tseng asks, a note of panic in his usually stoic voice. 

Reeve looks up. He knows, for a fact, that Rufus had been in the president’s office, and he knows that it’s very unlikely the president survived such a thing. That makes him very nervous, and it’s a strange thing to discover how differently he feels about Rufus’s potential death than he had felt about the late president’s murder. 

“I’ll try to get up there,” he answers, catching sight of Scarlet’s legs on the other side of the room, underneath the table. “I’ll call you back.”

He stands, reaching for the intercom system on the table. It looks undamaged, and he presses the button frantically. “Rufus!” he calls into the microphone, waiting a painful ten seconds before he shouts his name again. “ _Rufus!_ ”

“The president isn’t answering his phone,” Heidegger croaks, some flecks of blood on his face. 

Dragging a hand down his face, Reeve tries to think. He has to go up there, to see for himself. Charlie would never forgive him if he didn’t at least _try_ to get to Rufus, and it’s the right thing to do. He’s just a boy—about the same age _he_ had been when he first met Charlie. 

“Damn,” Reeve growls, his phone ringing again. “What is it now?” Lifting it back to his ear, Heidegger begins clearing away debris from Scarlet, helping her back to her feet as she stumbles on broken heels. “What?”

“ _Sir, someone is controlling the reactors’ output!_ ”

“What are you talking about?” It’s only one of the workers he had assigned to the task while he worked to issue evacuation notices. 

“What’s going on?” Scarlet snaps, hair falling out of her clip, coated with a thick layer of dust from the ceiling and debris. “Reeve, what’s happening?”

“ _Someone’s switched the machine over to mainframe operation!_ ”

“Who’s controlling it? Who has access to the mainframe?”

“You’re not trying to fire it _again_ , you brute!” Scarlet scrambles up to him, looking equally furious and terrified, several of her fingernails broken as she tries to snatch the phone away from his ear. “It’s not going to work! You’ll destroy Midgar! Shut it down!”

Reeve looks exasperatedly at Heidegger, who seems content to stand around and allow all this to happen. “Call the mainframe, Heidegger. I need to go look for the president. Call me when you find out who—”

Heidegger clears his throat loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and making a show of it. It’s an intimidating sight, to be sure, but Reeve only narrows his eyes, unable to see what the problem is. “What makes you think you can just start giving out orders? All that time with the girl has gone to your head, I think.”

“Giving out orders?” Reeve repeats, hardly able to believe his ears. “Are you insane? What does that matter right now?”

“ _It’s Hojo, sir!_ ” comes the deep voice through his phone. “ _I’m patching you through to the mainframe right now!_ ”

Heidegger doesn’t budge, and Reeve only looks away to shout, “Hojo, stop it! If you use the cannon again, you’re going to destroy Midgar!”

Hojo’s steady laughter comes through loud and clear. “ _A small price to pay, Reeve._ ”

“Hojo, stop!” Reeve looks helplessly at his two useless companions. Scarlet has inched closer to Heidegger, the both of them waiting for him to hang up the phone. “ _Hojo!_ ”

His hand jumps to his face, fingers pressing hard against his forehead and temples. It’s difficult to make out what everyone’s saying, especially while he’s trying to communicate with the people in front of him. He knows that it’s over for him now. Cloud and the others have surely realized who he is, and that’s why all the voices are so loud. 

The phone slips out of his hand, crashing to the floor and shattering completely. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Scarlet hisses, scrunching her nose. 

He hears enough, enough to know that there’s still hope. “Cloud and the others are on their way,” Reeve tells them both, breathing very heavily. “Just let them take care of Hojo. Stay out of their way. I’m going to go look for the president n—”

“No.”

He moves forward, sizing Heidegger up. “Excuse me?”

“The president is dead. We’re doing things our way now,” Heidegger replies, hands held behind his back. 

“ _Our_ way?” Reeve asks, glancing sideways at Scarlet, who giggles behind her fingers. “Even if Rufus is dead, that means Charlotte is the president now.”

“ _That_ traitor?” Scarlet scoffs. “The last Shinra . . .” She laughs again, the laughter he hates so much that seems to echo within his head. “You say Cloud and his friends are on their way . . .” She smiles at him, too innocently. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Reeve.”

Shaking his head, Reeve almost laughs in her face. “I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

He makes to move past her, towards the door, but she puts a hand on his chest to stop him, her face hardening. “Then we’ll do it the hard way.”

While he’s been looking at Scarlet, he hasn’t been paying attention to Heidegger. There’s a soft click, and Reeve is forced to take a step back, helpless in his current situation. “What are you doing?” he asks them both, through gritted teeth. 

“We can’t have you and your traitor friends getting in our way,” she continues, looking a mess before him. “So are you with us?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, and then—“No. Absolutely not.”

“Grab him, Heidegger. The girl will come for him, no matter what.”

As Reeve realizes what’s going on, his eyes snap open wide with panic. “No!” he protests, struggling as Heidegger grabs the back of his shirt collar, prodding between his shoulder blades with the barrel of the gun. “Not Charlotte! Leave her out of this!”

Scarlet laughs again, almost sounding sympathetic, placing a hand over her cold heart. “Reeve,” she says softly, taking a step closer and looking up into his face, “she doesn’t love you anymore.” Shrugging her shoulders, she smiles. “You’ve always been pathetic, lusting after the girl since she first grew tits. She’s been fucking her brother all this time, but surely you already knew that.”

Reeve shakes his head. He isn’t going to rise to the bait, but he will not allow Heidegger and Scarlet to lure Charlie right into a trap. “Leave her alone, Scarlet.”

This only makes her smile more. “How can you call yourself a man, Reeve?” 

He will not rise. He _will not_ rise. 

“You _shame_ her.”

_That’s not true!_

Charlotte’s voice comes in clearly again, the only peace he has in this moment of chaos. 

“Take him to a cell. Let him rot while the girl tries to save him.”

Heidegger has no problem following Scarlet’s orders, it seems. Reeve allows himself to be escorting out of the conference room, head held high. All he wanted, before Meteor struck the planet, was to see Charlie one last time. 

_I’m coming for you._

“Don’t,” he says aloud, not realizing it until Heidegger answers him. The hallways are completely empty, the building creaking and groaning every few seconds. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t come,” Reeve says again, ignoring Heidegger completely, feeling defeated. “Please, don’t come.”

_I’m going to save you, just like you saved me._

“That wasn’t me,” he replies, shoved through a doorway that leads to the emergency stairwell. The elevators must not be working. “I couldn’t do anything for you.”

Heidegger shoves him roughly, almost sending him tumbling to the floor. “ _Who_ are you talking to?”

_I’m coming for you,_ she says, and he knows there’s no stopping her. _I’m coming for you, like it or not._


	66. Chapter 66

“We have to go back to Midgar!” Charlie shouts, still cradling Cait Sith against her, her heart pounding a violent tattoo against her chest, leaping into her throat and choking her. Reeve captured, Rufus possibly dead, Shinra Inc. screeching to a sudden halt and collapsing with the presumed death of her brother. “We have to go back for him!”

Barret moves forward, trying to swipe the cat right out of her arms, but she turns away from him, holding onto Cait Sith tighter. “You knew this whole goddamn time! You knew who he was!”

“No, please, I can explain—”

“Explain that your fuckin’ boyfriend has been followin’ us around all this goddamn time!” Barret fires off his gun-arm towards the sky in a rage, looking murderous. “I _knew_ that you two were in on it together—”

“It’s not like that, Barret, please—”

“You’ve gotta believe her,” Cait Sith says quickly, clinging to Charlie as if very aware what might happen to him if she allows the others to reach him. “We didn’t want you to think Charlie was in on it!”

“Too late for that!” Barret replies, making another clumsy grab for the cat. “Should’a never trusted either of you!”

“Leave him alone!” she screams, stumbling backwards a little as she tries to get out of Barret’s way. “He’s only trying to help! We have to go back for him! We _have_ to go back for Reeve!”

“Go back for a _spy_ —”

“We can’t just _leave_ him there! He’s our friend! And he would do the same for any of you!” Charlie feels every second they aren’t making for Midgar is another second wasted, another second that Reeve could be seriously hurt, all to get her to come back to the city. She looks towards Cid, who looks very pale and uncomfortable, his eyes fixed warily on the cat in her arms. “Cid, please, we have to go to Midgar!”

“I can’t believe this,” Barret scoffs, appealing to Cloud for help. “She’s a goddamn liar! Why should we listen to anything comin’ outta your mouth?”

“Reeve has been taking care of _your_ daughter this whole time! You owe him this, Barret! He’s been your friend, and he’s important to me! Please—”

“I don’t owe him _nothin’_ —”

“Cloud, please,” she begs, willing to get on her knees if it means getting to Reeve _that_ much sooner. “We have to help him. You don’t know him like I do—he’s not a bad person, and he doesn’t deserve this. He’s not like them!”

“Yeah, yeah, heard that one before.” Barret rolls his eyes, turning away from Charlie and Cloud, putting his back to them. “Thought you were different, Shinra.”

“Then just take _me_ back,” she continues, tears stinging her eyes, getting desperate now. She has to go back for Reeve _now,_ so she can comb through the remains of the Shinra Building to make certain that Rufus is all right. He has to be all right. Rufus is clever and calculating, and would have thought of something to escape death. “Just bring _me_ back to Midgar, please. Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”

“If you come back by yourself, Charlie, you’re gonna get yourself killed!” Cait Sith chides her, sounding angrier than she’s ever heard him. “That’s exactly what Scarlet and Heidegger want you to do!”

“I can’t just leave you behind!” She doesn’t know if she’s talking to the cat or to Reeve, but she can’t think straight, and her mind is on the fritz, and they’re running out of time. 

“I’ll go with her. Hojo must be stopped.”

Charlie turns quickly, smiling at Vincent. He doesn’t look doubtful in the slightest, almost looking impatient. He nods curtly at her, and she’s suddenly filled with hope. No one else speaks up, however, but she didn’t really expect them to. 

“Listen to me, Charlie,” Cait Sith agrees, looking up at Charlie and nodding very quickly. “The Turks are in Midgar. They’re gonna be looking for Rufus, so find them somewhere near the Shinra Building.”

“You think he’s alive?” she asks, afraid to hear the answer. 

“The president’s office took a direct hit,” Cait Sith says quietly, apologetically. “But it’s very possible that he was able to escape in time. The Turks will find him one way or another.” Another long pause that fills her with dread. “If Rufus didn’t make it, that makes you the president, Charlotte.”

“No one will ever listen to me.” Charlie knows that it’s true. Even if she were to waltz into the Shinra Building claiming she’s the new president, it’s unlikely that any high-ranking employees will listen to her (save for Reeve), and with both Heidegger and Scarlet attempting to end the Shinra line once and for all, she won’t have an army at her disposal, either. “They all know that I’m a traitor. Some guards were willing to shoot me at the reactor in Corel—”

“You need to be careful,” the cat says with a very serious tone. “If something happens to you, it could very well mean the end of Shinra.”

“Isn’t that what everyone wants anyway?” 

Cait Sith doesn’t answer. Charlie knows it’s true, knows that she’s walking a very dangerous line right now, knows that she has a responsibility to the people and needs to put on a strong front for the world in the face of Meteor, but it’s getting harder and harder to put on that front when her entire world seems to be falling apart by itself. 

Cloud sighs very heavily, causing Cait Sith to fall silent. “Vincent’s right. Hojo needs to be stopped. We need to go back to Midgar and finish him off before we head to the Northern Crater. That’ll give Charlie plenty of time to stage a jailbreak.”

“Even if we do go back to Midgar, it’s not like we can waltz right into the slums!” Barret protests, and this time, Charlie thinks he has a point. If she were to walk into the slums, it’s possible that she would meet resistance right away. “Whole city’s gotta be under lockdown.”

“Did y’all forget we have an airship?” Cid interrupts, hands held behind his head as he rocks back and forth on his feet, looking as if he’s been ready for this moment his entire life. “There’s another way of gettin’ into the city that ain’t land or sea.”

“You want to parachute into Midgar?” Charlie asks, bewildered. The idea is both parts terrifying and exciting. 

“Got a better idea, princess?”

She doesn’t, so she says nothing. 

Cid takes her silence as her answer. “Everyone get ready. We’ll be at Midgar soon.” 

* * *

Charlie packs everything she can into her backpack, forced to leave behind several articles of clothing she’s acquired over the weeks (not that they’re very nice to begin with) in order to fit her mother’s box inside. 

She isn’t going to come back.

Once she touches down in Midgar, she has no intention of leaving. If Reeve is in Midgar, if the Turks are in Midgar, if _Rufus_ is in Midgar, then that’s where she belongs. 

If Scarlet and Heidegger are actively working against Shinra’s best interests, then Rufus will have no choice but to accept her help in regaining control of the company, in the hopes that Cloud and his friends can defeat Sephiroth and keep Meteor from destroying Midgar, and possibly the rest of the world. 

If _Rufus is still alive,_ she thinks to herself, but the thought is so painful that she forces herself to believe it’s not true. 

The swift knocking at her door brings her out of her reverie, making her jump. She inhales sharply and turns towards the door, blushing at the mere sight of Cid. Trying not to look too guilty, she slings her bag over her shoulder. 

“Did you know the whole time, Lottie?”

He’s bracing himself against the door frame, looking disappointed. She would much rather he yell at her, scream at her, get in her face until his cheeks are red and his voice is hoarse. When phrased like that, it sounds like an accusation, and she knows that she’s let him down. 

“I found out after Aerith left,” she admits sheepishly, not breaking eye contact with him. 

Cid scoffs, as if this answer is worse than whatever he was expecting. To her surprise, he takes a few more steps into the room. “You made a fool outta me,” he tells her in that same soft voice. “All that stuff I said to you in front of him . . . did he see me kiss you?” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “Goddamnit, Charlie, why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“I don’t know,” is all she can say. It seems so stupid now, when she really thinks about it. “I didn’t want any of you to think badly of him. I didn’t want any of you to hate him. You have no idea what he’s—”

“Well, I _do_ hate him. I think he’s a slimy fuckin’ goon—”

“Stop it.”

“What?” Cid asks defensively, a little more like his usual self now. “You were the one flirtin’ with me in front of him.”

“That was never about getting back at Reeve. That was never about hurting him or humiliating him, or _you_.” She blushes harder, wrapping her arms around herself. “Cid, I meant everything I said to you—”

“Don’t do that,” he frowns, “don’t try and make me fuckin’ feel better—”

“What do you want me to say?” she asks, watching several different emotions flicker across his face. “I never claimed to love you and only you. I never promised you a life or a future. I thought we both knew how this was going to end from the beginning.”

“If I had known, from the fuckin’ beginning, that your goddamn boyfriend was watchin’ us the entire time—”

“You would have what?” Charlie knows she doesn’t have time for this, but it may be the last chance she gets. “You wouldn’t have held my hand? You wouldn’t have made me laugh? You wouldn’t have comforted me when I needed it?”

“No, I—” Cid rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “I just would’a been a little more discreet about it—and—” He makes a sound that almost sounds feral. He’s frustrated, and rightfully so. “Why’d you have to lie ‘bout it?”

“What would you have said if I told you the truth?” she asks again, raising her eyebrows when he doesn’t have an answer. “You would have hated me. They all would have hated me.”

“So you lied to save your own fuckin’ pride—”

“No—”

“Well, that’s what it seems like to me!”

Charlie shrugs, at a loss. She doesn’t want to argue with him. She wants to go back to Midgar and rescue Reeve from whatever Heidegger and Scarlet have planned for him. She wants to meet back up with her brother, to wrap her arms around him to make certain that he’s alive. 

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she finally says, “okay?”

“That’s it?” Cid’s face has hardened, and he’s looking at her like he doesn’t know her, the same way he looked at her after the failed launch when she sent him away like he was nothing to her, like it didn’t break her heart. “That’s all you gotta say?”

“I’m not going to apologize for keeping Reeve’s secret from you,” she snaps, suddenly feeling defensive herself. “He was risking everything to help us.”

Regardless of the complicated feelings she has towards Reeve and Cait Sith at the moment, Charlie refuses to sit here and listen to Cid badmouth him, when Cid doesn’t know anything about Reeve. 

Reeve, who has always cared for Midgar and for its people, who has always cared for her. She had hurt him, and yet it hadn’t deterred him from protecting her, rescuing her from Junon, saving someone that means the world to her, watching over her brother while she’s been gone. 

“I’m not coming back,” she tells him flatly. “If Meteor is going to kill us all, then I’m going to spend my last days in Midgar. I wouldn’t be any help to you in the fight against Sephiroth.”

Cid takes a step closer to her, testing her. She feels her heart flutter slightly, and instinctively takes a small step backwards, but that only spurns him on another step. 

“I am so grateful for the time we spent together—”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“—and to be with you aboard our rocket when it launched . . . that was my dream—”

“Lottie, stop it.”

The backs of Charlie’s legs bump against the foot of the bed. He moves so slowly towards her, like they have all the time in the world. “What are you doing?” she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself.

“At least let me make my case,” he tells her. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

Her jaw clenches shut. He has her trapped between his body and the bed, and there is no escape. He’s going to make her hear him out. “Please stop,” she pleads softly, her cheeks on fire and her heart beating madly against her chest. “Please don’t.”

“They’re only words, honey,” he rasps, hunching his shoulders to put his face in front of hers. “You scared of a few words?”

“No—”

“You scared ‘cause you might love me back?”

“Stop mocking me.” Her face burns with embarrassment, and she looks down at the space between them, no more than two or three feet. “You don’t love me, Cid. You have no idea what it’s like to love me.”

“That’s ‘cause you never let me try.” A smile creeps onto his unshaven face, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I would’a taken real good care of you.”

It reminds her of her brother, of Rufus, who may or may not be dead right now. “I know you would have.” Charlie reaches out against her better judgement, touching the thick scarf around his neck, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders, wondering if she’ll ever see him again, even if the world is miraculously saved at the final hour. 

“I hope you’re happy, Lottie.”

She averts her eyes, waiting for the second half of that statement. She expects his hopes for her to come with conditions, to be accompanied by something cruel about Reeve, but it never comes. Instead, his hands find her face, and Charlie finds herself terribly uncomfortable, squirming against him, eager to get out of this confining space. 

“Tell me you don’t love me, or I’m gonna make my case with my mouth.”

“I don’t love you,” she says, breathing the words as she exhales loudly, realizing what she’s said too late. Cid pulls his hands away from her face, taking a step back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“Charlie, are you ready t’go?”

She looks away quickly, blushing when she sees Cait Sith standing in the doorway awkwardly, his tail moving side to side at a leisurely pace. She doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there or how much he’s heard or if Reeve was able to hear anything at all.

“I’ll meet you on the deck. I’ll be there in a minute,” Charlie tells the cat, looking back up at Cid and frowning. She only continues speaking when Cait Sith has left the doorway. “Good luck, Cid.”

“Don’t need luck, honey.”

Charlie smiles slightly, moving forward and falling into him without thinking about it. His chest is hard beneath her cheek, and she can both hear and feel the quickened beating of his heart. She slips her arms beneath his jacket to hold him close, closing her eyes to shut the rest of the world away for this moment, and Meteor is forgotten when his arms wrap around her shoulders. 

Is it true? Does she really not love him? She can’t say for certain. 

If Meteor wasn’t looming above them in the sky, if Sephiroth wasn’t a deadly threat to the planet, if they hadn’t been forced to bear witness to the murder of their friend . . . would their situation have changed? 

Would she still have felt the need to kiss him so urgently? Would she still have told him all of her dirty little secrets? Would she still have trusted him to the fullest extent with her life? Would she still have fallen asleep beside him, with her palm resting over his breast to feel his beating heart?

Regardless of her feelings, this is a much warmer good-bye than they had gotten last time. She thinks, if the world is saved, it might be the first step to moving on. She and Cid had achieved their dream together, and now there’s nothing left in their pasts for them to cling onto. 

Charlie thinks it’s then that she knows she will not see him again. 

Cid presses a soft kiss to the very top of her head, his grip on her loosening. “I think someone’s waitin’ for you, kiddo.”

She pulls away from him, feeling teary-eyed. “Why are you so good to me?”

“‘Cause I love you, Lottie.” The casual way he states it, like it hardly embarrasses him at all, knocks the wind out of her. “‘Cause you were my best friend, and ‘cause these last few weeks with you have been . . .” He smiles weakly, shrugging his shoulders. “I dunno. I’m not good at this kinda stuff.”

Charlie sighs. She wishes she had something better to say. She wishes she could comfort him. He’s done so much for her out of the goodness of his heart, the heart he claims to be cold and unfeeling. She knows it’s not true, and she knows that some little part of her will always love him for it. “I still have our picture, you know.”

“Thought you would’a sold it by now.”

“It’s precious to me.” She blushes again. “And so are you.”

He smiles, chuckling softly to himself. His heart isn’t really in it. “I’ll see you ‘round, kiddo. Okay?”

Charlie nods slowly. “See you around.”

* * *

With the front of Vincent’s body pressed against her back, she fights the fear that bubbles up within her, manifesting in the form of bile scratching at the base of her throat. 

It’s begun to rain in Midgar, putting out some of the fires that Weapon’s attack had caused. The city is otherwise almost completely dark, making it difficult to discern their landing spot from high above the tallest buildings. 

The top of the Shinra Building is collapsed and nearly demolished, and she’s able to get a good visual of the wreckage as the _Highwind_ passes over it. It seems as if the emergency system has kicked in, as she can see the red lights shining dully through the windows of the uppermost floors. 

“Remember,” Cait Sith says to her as she and Vincent step up to the edge of the airship, tucked into a harness on Cloud’s chest like a baby, “find the Turks at the base of the Shinra Building. I’m in a cell on the fiftieth floor, the end of the hallway.”

Charlie nods, clambering awkwardly up onto the guard rail, inhaling deeply as she looks down at the city below. 

She’s done scarier things. She’s faced scarier things. And even if Vincent doesn’t pull the parachute in time, he can just . . . _change_ , and fly them to the very top of the building.

She can’t be afraid now. She has to get Reeve out of the cell Heidegger put him in, and she needs to find Rufus so she can prove to everyone that their president is still alive. She needs to be the best version of herself so she doesn’t lose her head and let everyone down. 

They’re counting on her. 

Taking one last look at her friends, Vincent places a hand on either side of her, fingers curling loosely around the railing as he prepares to jump. They’re all looking back at her, parachutes on their backs and weapons in their hands. 

“See you soon, Charlie, yeah?” Yuffie asks, bouncing on her feet and raring to go. “Gonna introduce us to your boyfriend later?”

Charlie scoffs quietly, meeting Cait Sith’s eyes for a split second. “Sure.”

From behind the others, Cid gives her a weak smile, holding up a hand in farewell. Charlie meets his eyes next, receiving a small little nod from him in return. 

“Are you ready?” Vincent asks, hardly giving her a chance to answer before he’s leaping over the guard rail, and the two of them are launched into the wet night, free-falling towards a dark and quiet city. 

She doesn’t even scream. 

With her arms spread on either side of her, she feels like she’s flying. The rain soaks her to the bone, leaving her shivering and tense, and she knows her hair must be blinding Vincent. 

As much as she trusts him to handle the parachute, she thinks he waits a little too long to use it, but he lands gracefully on the tops of his feet before she touches down despite the speed of their descent, sparing Charlie two broken ankles. 

“Where are we?” he asks her again, unhooking himself from the harness around Charlie’s shoulders and waist. “The city looks . . . more different than I remember it. Bigger.”

She looks around, pushing her hair out of her face. While the buildings are dark and the street lamps have gone out, she recognizes a park near the corner of the street. She and Reeve had attended the opening of that park together (though it had been more of a photo-op than anything, a way to slap their good deeds onto some piece of Shinra propaganda), and it remains unchanged even now. 

“We’re in Sector Three,” she explains, turning to look up at the Shinra Building. Flames are still spilling out from a few broken windows, sending dark clouds of smoke up into the air. Pulling her gun out and making sure it’s loaded, she exhales a shaky breath. If there was ever a time she needed to step up, it’s now. “Okay, let’s find the others.”

Making their way to Sector Zero isn’t necessarily hard, but making their way _through_ Sector Zero is a little more difficult. 

Wreckage from the top of the building has fallen to the streets below, blocking roadways and tunnels and bridges. Staircases have collapsed and a few buildings have been razed to the ground by boulder-sized debris. They hurry as quickly as they can, blinded by the rain and the tangle of wide pipes and sheet metal, the city full of shouting. 

For some reason, she feels calmer than she thought she might. 

The rain, while annoying and freezing, is comforting to her. Though it’s likely due to the atmospheric changes because of Meteor’s close proximity, it reminds her of what Bugenhagen had said about her mother, and the idea that those she’s lost might be watching on fills her with courage. 

It’s almost second nature for her to stifle fear in order to project an image of strength, but it’s easier knowing that her mother, Angeal, and Aerith might be rooting for her somewhere in the afterlife, in the Lifestream, in the very rain that touches her skin. 

After pulling her up over what must be the rubble of half the executive suite, Vincent speaks again. “You’re staying here, aren’t you?” 

His question catches her so off-guard that she isn’t certain she’s heard him right. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re staying here, in Midgar?”

“Is it that obvious?” she frowns, listening to glass crunch beneath her boots as they make their way towards the front of the Shinra Building, where there seems to be far more activity. 

“I don’t really think anyone expects you to come back.” Vincent looks sideways at her before climbing over the hood of an abandoned car that blocks their pathway. Charlie follows him, struggling without his superhuman strength to make things easier. “Except for Yuffie, maybe.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Say we survive Meteor. Say Cloud and everyone defeats Sephiroth and the world continues,” she begins again, taking hold of his good hand as she leaps over some more of the wreckage with his help. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits carefully. “I haven’t given much thought to the future, given the current situation.”

“Well, you always have a place with us, Vincent. With the Turks, and with me. You would probably even like Reeve, if you gave him a chance.”

“Is that what you think?”

Charlie smiles to herself. “He’s a good man,” she tells him, trying to be very serious. “I wouldn’t love him, nor would I have returned to Midgar for him, if I thought he was anything else. It doesn’t hurt that he’s dead handsome, too.”

Vincent hums, and then makes a noise that sounds like a strangled little laugh, choked out against his will. 

“Think I’m funny, do you?”

“Maybe a little.”

She can’t help but laugh quietly to herself. “You remind me of someone else I know.”

The front of the Shinra Building is crowded with people who hardly seem to recognize her. Security guards are helping escort panicked employees out of the building, while others attempt to get into the building in search of answers, of hope, of help. 

With little light and all the chaos, it’s easy for Charlie and Vincent to slip through the crowd unnoticed, keeping their heads low to avoid attracting attention. She looks around desperately for a sign of the Turks, of any of them, but it’s near impossible to make out anyone’s faces, and in their dark suits, they would surely blend into the night. 

Charlie wipes the rain off her face again, to no avail. She’s starting to panic, thinking this all a waste of time. She doesn’t need the Turks to help her find Reeve. So long as she has Vincent, they should be fine. 

“We’re wasting time. We need to get inside,” she tells him, wondering how many armed guards within would be willing to kill her on sight, wondering how many armed guards are taking orders from Heidegger and Scarlet. “The fiftieth floor, he said. That’s Public Security.”

“We’re going to have to take the stairs,” Vincent notes, craning his neck back to look up at the looming building in all of its glory. “I don’t think the elevators are working.”

He points upwards, where Charlie can see one of the glass elevators, stuck a few floors up with some people stuck inside of it, pounding on the glass and trying to catch the attention of the people below. 

“Okay,” she agrees, not going to ask him to painfully transform into some kind of monster just for her. “Don’t forget, we have to look for Rufus, too.”

“We will.”

Taking him at his word, Charlie leads Vincent around to the other side of the building and towards a half-hidden door meant solely for executive use. As she goes to open the door, someone shouts her name and she whirls around to find Vincent’s gun already drawn and ready to fire. 

She holds a hand out to lower his gun, able to recognize that voice if her life depended on it. Tseng runs right up to her, breathing heavy, and Charlie clutches onto his forearms, feeling truly confident for the first time all night. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks her, the rain slamming on the pavement, cracking like thunder over their voices. 

“Heidegger’s put Reeve in a cell,” she answers desperately. “Vincent and I are going to . . . She trails off, looking over Tseng’s shoulder to see more approaching shadows, three of them—no five—but there’s three more, and they’re coming into focus, all people she recognizes, all people she has loved at some point in her life. 

Most of them are out of uniform—the ones that haven’t been around, anyway. Their waterlogged clothes hang heavy on their shoulders, but none of them complain or frown or seem to give any indication that this isn’t where they want to be right now. 

There’s Veld, standing tall behind Reno, Rude, and Elena, waiting for their next command. 

And there’s Crisis, who used to turn the music up so loud in the house that it would rattle the fine dishes and cutlery and the windows and anyone could hear it from across the entire house, who used to take her for rides on the back of his motorcycle when Veld wasn’t around to put a stop to it. 

And beside him is Cissnei, who used to lay on the beach with her and giggle at cute boys in their tiny bathing suits, who used to sneak liquor from her father’s locked cabinets with her, who used to tease Tseng with her until he was red in the face. 

“Where is Reeve?” Tseng asks her again, bringing Charlie forcibly out of her reverie. 

Her fingernails are digging hard into his arms, and she pulls away, muttering an apology. “He’s in a cell on the fiftieth floor.” Charlie can’t believe it—they all seem like ghosts to her now, and if she blinks, they’ll be lost to her again. “What are you all doing here?”

“We’re here to help, of course,” Cissnei says, smiling sweetly and folding her arms over her chest. 

“What’re our orders, then?” Reno calls out, one of the only few Turks in a suit, his pale chest shining in Meteor’s glow, bright red hair falling into his face. 

Charlie looks to Tseng, expecting him to start handing out commands, but he only looks back at her. She blinks a few times, about to ask why he isn’t answering Reno’s question, when she glances around at the others again to find all of their eyes on _her_. 

Tseng, his face hidden to everyone but Charlie and Vincent, inclines his head very slightly at her and smiles. “Your orders, Madam Vice President?”

“My . . . ?” she chokes out, watching Tseng nod again, lifting his chin and his eyebrows. 

Charlie looks around, standing tall, shoulders back and chin up, letting the rain wash over her face. 

“We need to evacuate everyone still on the plate,” she says, shouting over the noise, and when Tseng turns to leave, she reaches out for his hand. “No, you’re coming with me. We’ll need help looking for Rufus.”

“Okay, okay! You heard the princess!” Reno elbows Rude, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll take Sector Two!”

As everyone partners up and Tseng divides sectors between the Turks, Charlie turns back to Vincent. “I’m in good hands here,” she says. “Go on. Tseng and I can do this ourselves.”

“You are sure?”

“Positive.” She touches Vincent’s arm, fingers curling around a skinny bicep. “I meant what I said, you know. You’ll always have a family with us. We Turks have to look after each other.”

He hums, chuckling very softly. The only reason she knows is because she sees his shoulders shake. “Be careful.”

“I will. Now _go_. Cait Sith will let you know when we’ve found Reeve.”

She watches him dash off towards the Sister Ray, moving much quicker without her at his side, leaping from the top of debris to the top of a car, his crimson cloak being whipped and lashed around by the wind. 

Veld lingers as everyone is sent off, walking up to both Charlie and Tseng as they check their weapons and prepare themselves for a fifty-story climb. She smiles at him, so genuinely and so tenderly that the last few weeks may never have happened, and when he smiles back, it fills her with a warmth that the rain can’t dampen. 

“The VP runs away and all hell breaks loose in the world, is that the way of it?” he asks her in his gruff and scratchy voice. 

“Something like that,” she replies, a million thoughts racing through her mind, a million things to say. “I missed you.”

Veld touches the side of her face, glancing between her and Tseng. Without her permission, her eyes flutter closed at the contact, but she quickly snaps out of it when he speaks again. “I feel like all my kids grew up without me,” he sighs, patting her on the cheek. “I’ll see you afterwards, Charlotte, and then we can talk, got it?”

“That’s ‘Madam Vice President’ to you,” she teases. With this sudden burst of adrenaline coursing through her, she might be able to run all the way to the very top of the Shinra Building without slowing once. 

“Forgive my insolence,” Veld chuckles, teeth bright through the night, “but you’ll always be ‘little princess’ to me.”

Charlie blushes, catching sight of Tseng’s mouth twitching. It’s embarrassing, but it’s the perfect amount of embarrassing. He doesn’t mean to humiliate her like her father always sought to. “Better go, Veld,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him, “or else your boss will have your hide. I heard he’s very scary.”

Tseng colors, scoffing as he adjusts the gloves on his hands. “Isn’t someone waiting for us?” he asks pointedly, looking rather flustered, but it only makes her smile wider. 

“That’s right. Let’s go.”

* * *

With Charlie not in the best shape of her life and with Tseng still recovering from the wound on his abdomen, it’s a difficult and noisy climb all the way to the fiftieth floor. 

She’s already soaked with rain water, but soon starts sweating as she trails after Tseng, hurrying up the stairs as fast as they can, panting and heaving and coughing and wheezing (all right, _she_ does most of that). Her thighs burn painfully and soon become numb, though she gets a second wind about halfway up, when she begins to think about how it might feel to throw herself at Reeve for the first time in what feels like forever. 

They can’t even speak, unable to finish a complete sentence the higher they climb, guided along by the red emergency lighting above each metal door that leads to the next floor and along the walls. 

By the time they reach the thirtieth floor, Charlie can hardly breathe, her chest tight and her mouth dry and ready to collapse at any moment. The emergency stairwell smells of smoke, burning her lungs. 

But the thought of Reeve spurns her onward, and when Tseng notices her begin to slow down, he comes back for her, holding onto her wrist with one hand, his other arm around her waist, keeping her moving even when it’s the last thing in the world she thinks she can do. 

When, at last, they reach the door to the fiftieth floor, she’s fueled solely by adrenaline, pulling the door open and walking into the building proper. 

While the Public Security floor seems relatively undamaged, there are signs of chaos everywhere. Papers are scattered on the floor, and things have been left at the front desk that seems to indicate that people had left in a hurry. The red lights don’t give them much visibility, and another white emergency light flashes every two or three seconds.

“A little quiet, don’t you think?” Tseng whispers, looking around before continuing towards the holding cells. 

“A little.”

“Stay behind me.”

She does as he says, creeping down the long hallway towards the cells that once held Pia before her untimely demise. There’s not a soul in sight, not a sound, but every so often the building seems to shift, and dust rains onto their heads from the ceiling. 

“Do you think he’s still up there?” Charlie dares to ask, still trying to catch her breath from the climb. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

“Yes,” Tseng replies, and she’s unsure whether or not he’s lying. 

Her heart beats wildly as they get nearer to the cell. She half-expects someone to jump out at her, to start shooting without discretion, but nothing comes. Even Tseng looks into every office that has a door open, peeking around corners and glancing over his shoulder at her. “It shouldn’t be this easy,” she notes.

“It’s possible that no one expected you to come so soon,” Tseng muses, stopping her before they round the corner that should lead them to Reeve’s holding cell. “Or whatever security Heidegger may have left behind could have fled the building.”

Charlie sprints down the hallway with Tseng on her heels, making for the last cell at the end. “Go open the door. The emergency power should be enough to do it,” she instructs Tseng, who immediately makes for the control room. As he hustles away, she slams her palm against the door, hoping she doesn’t vomit at the sound of his voice. “Reeve!”

“Charlotte?”

His voice is muffled through the doorway, but it’s still sweet, and it’s still his, and it makes everything feel like it was worth it, even the pain in her legs. _Especially_ the pain in her legs. “Tseng’s going to open the door,” she tells him, resting her forehead against the cool metal. “Hold on, okay?”

It takes no more than thirty seconds. There’s a soft clicking and hissing noise that makes her take a step back, and then the door slides open with another quiet noise, revealing him to her, framing him in the doorway, taking her breath away. She’s struck dumb all over again, just like the first time she had met him. 

The bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, there’s bruising underneath both of his eyes that seems to be healing, there’s a cut at his hairline that drips blood down the side of his face, and he looks a right mess. If he had been wearing a jacket over his undershirt, it’s gone now, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and his tie loose around his neck. 

And once the second is over, she allows herself to be swept into his arms, burying her face in his neck and soaking his shirt. She wraps her arms around his neck, holding him a little too tightly, threading long fingers through his dark hair and closing her eyes, strong hands around her waist and lips against her hair. 

Charlie pulls away from him, only to look closely at his face. She touches his cheeks, meeting no resistance, brushing the pads of her thumbs over his bruised face. “What happened to your face?” she breathes, wanting to kiss him all over, wanting to count the light freckles on the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks. “Reeve, what happened to you?”

“Not important right now,” he tells her, still holding her as if she never left. She’s so happy she could die now and it would be all right. “Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

She laughs breathlessly, shaking her head. “Who cares about me?”

“I do,” he says, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing. Slowly, a small smile begins to creep onto his face. “My hero.”

As much as it makes her heart flutter, the sight of the bruising and blood on his face discourages her. She touches his face again, fingertips brushing over high and sharp cheekbones. His skin is warm beneath her fingers, and his eyes close when she cradles his face, the world standing still for a moment. 

“Who did this to you?” She has a horrible feeling that she already knows the answer. 

“Don’t worry about me, Charlie.”

“I’m always worried about you.” Charlie pushes herself onto her toes, lightly touching her lips against the bruises just underneath both of his eyes. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you. I wish I didn’t look like a drowned rat.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re the loveliest sight I’ve ever seen in the world right now. Now, we need to go look for Rufus.”

Charlie softens upon hearing that, heart swelling. “I love you.”

She blushes furiously, embarrassed that the words have escaped her without warning, but it’s true and she isn’t going to apologize for something she means wholeheartedly. Just knowing that Reeve isn’t about to leave Rufus for dead means the world to her, especially given all that’s happened since Rufus assumed the presidency of Shinra Inc. 

But Reeve only gives her a tired smile, his cheeks pink, and he takes her by the hand and pulls her out of the cell, confident and level-headed and positively heroic in the fearless way that he pulls her towards the upper levels, back the way they came with Tseng on their heels. 

* * *

It’s near impossible to reach the upper floors, let alone the president’s office. 

The stairs are blocked by debris that’s far too heavy for the three of them to move alone, and without the elevators working, there’s no other way to the top. 

Charlie shouts her brother’s name throughout every hallway, every floor they search. They comb the upper floors of the Shinra Building and call for him, but they never receive an answer, and with every passing second, Charlie seems to grow more panicked and frantic, shouting herself hoarse as she comes to the realization that it’s very unlikely Rufus survived Weapon’s attack. 

And when it begins to feel as if all hope is lost, Charlie turns around to face him and Tseng, eyes wide and filled with tears. 

Reeve thinks it’s very admirable of her to hold back the tears, considering everything about her relationship with her brother. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides, jaw set and tense, but there is the same horror in her face as she had worn at the Temple of the Ancients, unable to properly process the situation. 

Perhaps it’s worse than that horror, this look of heartbreak and defeat. 

But she continues her search, pushing aside what she can to slip into small and confined spaces that might be trapping a body beneath them. She checks underneath every desk in every office, in every closet and every bathroom, double-checks areas the three of them have already triple-checked, and while Tseng seems to content to follow her around all night, Reeve knows that if they have not found Rufus by now, then he isn’t here. 

“Charlie,” he says softly as she insists on trying the back staircase again, just to see if there’s a hole big enough for her to crawl under, just to see if there’s a loose piece of metal they might be able to push aside. “Charlotte, it’s time to go back down.”

“No,” she protests, her voice breaking. “No, we can’t . . . we can’t leave yet . . . he could still be here . . .”

Reeve steps forward and takes her hand, holding it between the both of his. Holding her gaze for a moment, he shakes his head very slowly, wanting to apologize and kiss her all over, to comfort her as she attempts to accept the dire situation they’ve all found themselves in. 

“I’ll stay and look.” Tseng takes a look around him, as if trying to find a hidden door or something they haven’t already looked at. “We can all meet back at the estate. Do you have a phone, Director?”

He pauses, pulling away from Charlie to pat down his pockets. One of his phones had been left behind in the conference room after Heidegger ushered him out, but his burner phone is stuffed in his front pocket. 

“Don’t worry. I have the number already.” Tseng doesn’t elaborate any further, stopping Reeve as he opens his mouth to speak. “I’ll call if I find anything, but . . .” He turns to face Charlotte. “Until the president’s body has been found, we will continue our work under the assumption he has survived.”

To Reeve, it sounds as if Tseng’s words are meant to bring them both comfort, like speaking the words outloud might somehow make Rufus’s survival at all possible. 

“We should help evacuate the rest of the city,” Charlie says firmly, looking up at Reeve. Her arms are crossed across her chest, and he knows there is no changing her mind. “Or at least make sure Cloud and the others are all right.”

For half a heartbeat, Reeve’s heart stops. He thinks she must be either very bold or very oblivious to speak openly of Cloud and his friends in front of Tseng. Surely the vice president should know better than to discuss treason so carelessly?

But Tseng doesn’t bat an eye, and Shinra is in utter chaos and its president is missing, and Meteor hangs in the sky over Midgar, and it doesn’t matter what Charlie does because they all might be dead soon even if Hojo isn’t stopped, and even Tseng must know that Cloud is their last hope—the only ones who can defeat Sephiroth and potentially destroy Meteor along with him. 

Reeve and Charlie leave Tseng among the wreckage, though the both of them voice their doubts about it. The upper floors of the building that remain are in danger of collapsing, and the fires that still burn up top could cause an explosion that might send him flying to the ground from two-hundred meters above the plate. 

There’s a cold look on her face after they agree to trust Tseng to get himself safely out of the building, like she knows she may have just condemned a man she loves to his death. 

As the make for the stairs again, something catches his eye, something framed sitting upon the wreckage from the upper levels. “Charlie . . .” he begins, moving towards it. “Look.”

She turns to face him, watching him pick up the framed drawing, the sketch of the home he had once drawn for her and that once hung on the hall in his office. The glass frame has been cracked, but the drawing remains intact. Reeve holds it out to show her, a crooked smile on his face. 

To his pleasure, Charlie smiles back. “Are you going to keep it?”

He looks down, flipping it over to remove the paper from the frame. “It’s a good house,” he says stupidly, feeling as if he needs to justify folding it up and tucking it into his pocket. 

“Yes, it is. It _is_ my dream house, after all.”

He smiles at her, nodding slightly. “Yes,” he says, “that’s right.”


	67. Chapter 67

“My legs are—burning—”

“I—can’t breathe—”

“Have I told you—yet that you—look beautiful?”

“Wait until—you see the—back of me—”

“Already seen it—and loved—it—”

“Reeve Tuesti—who _are_ you?”

“I’m only—trying to be more—honest—”

“It _is_ the end—of the world—isn’t it?”

“Gods—I hope not—”

Despite her inability to speak a full sentence without feeling on the verge of passing out, the race back down the emergency stairwell is much louder and harder than her climb had been with Tseng. 

She clings to Reeve’s sweaty hand (though it could very well be her own that’s so clammy and damp), fingers twined together, her heart beating so fast and so hard that it would be impossible for him not to hear it echoing throughout the stairwell. As they reach the twenty-first floor landing, she begins to slow, her hand slipping from his. 

The longer the silence stretches, however, the clearer her thoughts become. The silence is suffocating, and she’s panicking, and Rufus might be dead and Tseng might never come back and it’ll be all her fault because they left him behind, left him alone for dead. 

Reeve is halfway down the next staircase when he realizes she’s no longer just behind him, turning around with a short exhale and leaping back up to join her upon the landing. 

“Are you all right?” He takes hold of her hand again, squeezing tight. “We’re almost there.”

Charlie shakes her head, looking up into his face. His hair is a mess, slicked back with sweat and dried blood and sticking to his cheeks. His chest is heaving, breath coming in short, wheezing gasps, but he’s already pulling her towards the stairs again. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. We’re more than halfway there now—”

“No, I . . .” She pulls away, her back bumping against the cold wall. “Oh . . . he’s dead, isn’t he?”

“We don’t know that—”

“He’s not answering any calls, there’s no sign of him anywhere, and his office took a direct hit,” she says, and while she doesn’t want to believe it (she _can’t_ believe it, she would _know,_ she would _feel_ it), it’s hard to ignore the facts that she’s been presented with. “Do you truly believe there’s a chance he survived?”

Reeve sighs, eyebrows knitted together. That’s enough to make Charlie’s eyes well up with tears, even knowing everything she knows about her brother now, and she looks away in an attempt to hide them. He catches her chin with his thumb and forefinger, gently lifting her face. 

“Listen to me, Charlotte. I have been through absolute _hell_ with your brother these past few weeks,” he murmurs, breath hot on her mouth, the pad of his thumb brushing back-and-forth across her chin, “and I am _not_ going to give up so easily on him now. But there is nothing that you or I can do for him right now. Tseng is up there, and we must trust him to take care of it, all right?”

That’s enough to make her heart slow, at least. “Okay,” she breathes, nodding slightly. “Tell me more things to make me feel better.”

“All right,” he laughs quietly, lowering his hand from her face to touch the ends of her hair. “Once we’re away from this place, we’re going to make sure Cloud and the others are all right, and then we’re going to get you back to Veld, and then I’m going to take you to Kalm and keep you safe for as long as I can.”

She relaxes, wiping the rest of her tears away. 

“Are you all right? Do you think you can keep going now?”

“Yes,” she smiles, touching his face, still feeling as if she’s walked right into a dream, seeing him again. “I just needed to hear your voice.” 

“I can do a different voice, if it will make you feel better.”

Laughter escapes her, desperate and half a sob. “I missed you so much.”

Reeve’s cheeks color. “I missed you, too.”

* * *

The painkillers make him remember things.

Not clearly, of course, but almost like vignettes, half-forgotten memories that have made up the very core of his being, that have helped shape him into the man he is now, lying broken and alone and pathetic and dying on the floor of a painfully bright panic room. 

Rufus isn’t really sure that they could really be constituted as true memories, as they’re still hazy and unfocused, based more around the emotions he had felt than anything else. 

The smell of her flowery shampoo when she curled up beside him at night, limbs tangled together like babes in the womb, while a storm raged outside their home with furious, cracking thunder, nothing compared to the storm _within_ their home, screaming and smashing and sobbing, the sounds of their father’s drunken tirades and the sharp crack of flesh on flesh, punctuated by more screams and sobs. 

The song she used to sing to him when she would tend to his bruises and cuts at night, working by low lamplight so as not to alert anyone who might still be awake, the same song he would hear her humming in the shower when he would pass by the door in the morning, but the song has been buried so deep that he only recalls it was some anti-war propaganda tune about a soldier going off to serve in a bloody war and never coming back to his beloved.

The first time she had told him she loved him and the realization that she meant it in a different way, and the knowledge that there was one woman in the world who might love him for something other than his name, his face, his money, his power, the title and job and life that he would inherit after his father. 

The bright smile on her face when she had waved to him from the crowd of people who watched him graduate with top honors from some fancy private school with the rest of his classmates, hidden towards the back to remain anonymous and side-by-side with Reeve, both of them there to support him after his father had decided the company was more important than his own son’s education and achievements. 

Rufus remembers learning how to swim by copying his sister in the warm waters at Costa del Sol, remembers learning how to ride a bicycle with her soft little hands on his back, remembers skinning his knees and bursting into tears while his sister kissed his head and cleaned up his wounds, remembers watching her build model airplanes and begging her to let him help. 

And he remembers listening at her bedroom door while Veld read her a bedtime story because he had already rejected the Turk’s offer and was too prideful to admit he changed his mind. 

He remembers his sister looking so ashamed of loving him, all because she was in love with Reeve and couldn’t be anything less than perfect. 

A soft whining noise makes Rufus’s eyes snap open. It takes him a moment to realize the sound has come from himself. It takes him another moment to realize that his cheeks are wet with tears. 

After everything he’s done to her, Charlie won’t come for him now. She might be upset that he managed to find an escape route at the last minute. He doubts that she’ll ever care about him again, and doubts that she’ll even shed any tears when she finds out that Weapon may have killed him. 

Or perhaps she will. After all, she shed tears for Father. Why shouldn’t she shed tears for him? And what was it she had said? 

_Just like Father . . . just like Father . . . just like Father . . ._

“Shut up,” he says to no one, speaking only to the blindingly white ceiling, still lying on his back on the hard ground. “ _Shut up!_ ”

If he gets out of here, he’ll never hurt her again. If he gets out of here, he’ll apologize to both Charlie and Reeve. If he gets out of here and survives Meteor, he will give her a full pardon and he’ll give Reeve some fancy new title that pays a lot of money to make them both happy. 

“Oh, Gods, help me,” he moans, his ribs aching and his eyes burning. “Help me . . .”

Though a horrible thought continues to overshadow any hope for him. He has wronged all the people who tried to care for him, and it’s all his fault. 

No one will come to save him now. 

* * *

“They’re out of the building! They made it!”

Cait Sith’s face still glows in the orange light from the explosion caused by Shinra’s latest weapon, a massive robot designed to stamp them all out under its feet. 

One of the high-ranking pricks lies dead on the ground, a man that the cat had named Heidegger. Half of his thick green coat is burned off, a tangled black beard singed in places and stinking, dried blood covering half his face, killed in the explosion. Yuffie gives his fat body a kick, as if to make sure he isn’t going to get back up. 

“Wait a minute—” Cait Sith hops down from Nanaki’s back, looking around frantically. “Where’s Scarlet?”

“Who?” Cid replies, still breathing heavy and bleeding in a few places where the robot had swiped at him. 

“The woman he was with! Where’d she go?”

With a cigarette already between his lips, Cid lights it with a trembling hand. “Dunno. Probably wandered off to die alone. There’s no way she’d make it far.”

“Listen, we can’t just sit around and wait to see what happens with the Sister Ray,” Cait Sith continues, glancing up towards the towering staircase that leads up to the control panel. “The Turks are heading up evacuations, but there aren’t enough of them to do the job. They’re gonna need help.”

To Cid’s surprise, Yuffie is the first to volunteer. “Sounds like the perfect job for me! I’ll do it!” she announces brightly. “But I’ve never been here before, so . . . you’ll have to tell me where to go.”

“I can do that, lass,” the cat says, and Yuffie picks him up and sets him neatly on her shoulder, the exact same way Charlie is like to. “We’ll take Sector One. You two take Sector Two. Cid, you know where you’re going, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Cid throws his cigarette down, stomping it out moodily beneath his boot. “I got it, all right? I know my way around the goddamn city.”

“Okay. If you run into any of the Turks, don’t worry, just ignore them. They won’t touch you unless Charlie orders them to.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Cid snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t sound like the Turks I know. She _did_ tell you ‘bout that slick-haired Turk comin’ to my house, didn’t she?”

“Things are different now. Just ignore them. We’re all working towards the same goal right now.”

When Yuffie takes off with Cait Sith through the night, Nanaki turns to face him. “You _do_ know the city, don’t you?” he asks. 

Cid scoffs, the back of his neck growing warm. “It’s been a while,” he admits. “But how hard can it be? We’ll figure it out. I don’t need a fuckin’ cat tellin’ me what to do.”

* * *

“Where are we going?” 

“I don’t know,” Reeve confesses, dragging Charlie along by the hand, racing down an empty street in Sector One. It’s impossible to see anything through the storm, but every now and then, lightning flashes and brightens their way. “I’m waiting for Cloud to let us know Hojo has been taken care of.”

There doesn’t seem to be enough time to do everything he wants to do. With Shinra in disarray, and with a limited number of Turks in a city with more than a thousand times their number, evacuations have been slow, chaotic, and embarrassingly disorganized. The sheer number of citizens requiring help was overwhelming with an entire department to oversee it, and half the top-side residents must still be waiting for their chance to relocate temporarily to the slums. 

And there’s Rufus to think about, as well. Until Reeve sees a body, he won’t believe the president is dead. Despite the fact that Weapon’s projectiles had destroyed the topmost part of the Shinra Building, he has a hard time believing that Rufus wouldn’t have had one last trick up his sleeve. 

“Reeve,” Charlie says softly, keeping up with him as much as she can. His legs are almost numb from their descent from HQ, shaking and weak, and he can’t imagine hers are any better. “Let’s go back to my father’s house. We should get out of the rain.”

He sighs, looking back at her. “All right. I suppose the less people that know you’re here, the better.” 

With the Turks heading evacuations now, more vehicles have flooded the streets and seem to be drawing people out of their dark homes. Helicopter buzz overhead, bright lights blinding as they search for people in need of help, and sirens are going off a few blocks away, a deep voice shouting instructions through a bullhorn. 

He looks up to see Meteor breaking through the storm clouds above them. For the first time in a while, he has the time to consider what may happen in the next few days. He’s been too busy to dwell on it, but now that it’s here, in his face, and he can take a moment to really digest the situation that’s been contrived . . . 

“Reeve,” Charlie says again, standing right in front of him with her hands on his shoulders. “It’s all right.” After another moment, during which he finds he can’t speak, she cocks her head and smiles up at him. “Let’s go, okay?”

“Okay.”

She takes the lead this time, weaving her way through the streets, as familiar with them as she is with the back of her hand. Charlie tends to keep to the main streets, where there’s light from the vehicles, but not enough to draw attention to them, so long as they keep their heads down. It’s unlikely anyone will recognize Charlie looking the way she does now, especially if no one knows that she’s in the city. 

They eventually approach the burning remains of the Proud Clod, the rain having put out much of the flames. Charlie doesn’t seem to think it warrants a passing glance, but something does happen to catch her eye to her right, something slumped against a building, and he nearly bowls into her when she stops abruptly.

“Wait,” she says quietly, reaching behind her and pulling out a golden gun that had been hidden under her clothes. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses, grabbing her arm as she takes a few steps towards a building drowned in shadow. 

“Don’t worry. I know how to use it. Just wait here.” Charlie creeps towards the shadow on the ground, propped against a stone wall. Reeve follows anyway, but she doesn’t say anything about it. 

As they approach, Reeve is granted a better sight of what the shadow actually is. Her red dress is nearly burnt all the way off her body, and parts of it seem to have melted into her very skin. The left side of her is covered in savage blisters and burns, and it’s truly a horrible sight to look upon. But her hair is unmistakable, even scorched and falling out of place like it is. 

Charlie kneels down before Scarlet, taking care to keep the gun in the open. Scarlet is still alive, breathing very raggedly and painfully, bleeding from several puncture wounds in her exposed chest. The rain makes her blood look pink, pooling around her where she lies broken. 

Though Reeve almost feels sorry for Scarlet, Charlie doesn’t seem to look as sad for her. There’s a hard look to her face, eyebrows furrowed together as she looks the other woman’s body up and down, scrunching her nose. 

“Going to . . . shoot me . . . Char?”

“I could,” Charlie answers, cocking her gun and making a show of it. Reeve purses his lips. “If I wanted to.”

“I _know_ . . . you want to . . .” Her voice is hardly there, wheezing over the slapping of the rain against the pavement. “Go on . . . then . . .”

Charlie doesn’t move, remaining at Scarlet’s side without even changing her expression. 

“I knew . . . about your SOLDIER . . . about that _monster_ that . . . second-rate scientist created . . .” Scarlet lifts a violently shaking hand to grip Charlie’s forearm, digging sharp talons into her skin, but Charlie doesn’t flinch. “About your brother . . . the _disgusting_ things you’ve . . . done . . .” Her eyes flick up to Reeve’s face, her expression twisted in pain. “I should have . . . killed you both . . . while I had the . . . chance . . .”

“Does it hurt terribly, Scarlet?” Charlie asks softly, prying Scarlet’s fingers off her arm. “Knowing that you’re going to die alone here? Is that what you want? For me to kill you and put you out of your misery?”

“You _brat_ . . . you don’t have . . . the stomach . . . your father would be . . . ashamed of you . . .” Scarlet’s eyes look heavy. “You could _never_ . . . have been . . . president . . .”

Slowly, Charlie gets to her feet. She holds the gun out and aims it at Scarlet’s face almost lazily. Reeve means to stop her, but another part of him knows that, if this is what Charlie wants, there will be no stopping her at all. So he’s forced to watch, and forced to hope that she undergoes a change of heart in the next few seconds. 

Rufus would have shot her already. Rufus would have shot her the moment they found her, and probably would have shot her multiple times, always playing with his food before eating it. 

President Shinra would have had her dragged away and killed out of sight, wiping his hands clean of the situation in the seconds that followed his apparent stroke of genius. 

But after the longest few seconds of his life, Charlie lowers the gun back to her side. She considers Scarlet for a long moment, the both of them looking at each other with obvious contempt and fury, and then says, “You’re not worth it.”

Turning back to face Reeve, Charlie exhales quietly, seemingly waiting for him to say something. But all he can think to say is, “Are you ready?”

She nods, and neither of them look back at Scarlet again as they walk away. 

* * *

It seems that Rufus has been staying in the house. His old bedroom is scattered with freshly disturbed clothing, and there are a few half-empty bottles of scotch and whiskey on his nightstand. The sight makes her sad, so she closes the door and decides not to go back inside. 

They still haven’t heard anything from Tseng, and none of the Turks are here yet. 

The entire home is dark, save for the light that makes its way through the windows from the moon and Meteor. Charlie and Reeve had fumbled around the kitchen for candles and matches, and she can’t deny that it’s eerie to walk down a long, empty, and silent hallway with only a candle that casts long and ever-moving shadows on the walls while the rain lashes at the window panes. 

There isn’t much left in the dressers as far as dry clothing that might fit Reeve. All of Rufus’s things are too tight and too small, and all of her father’s clothing had been removed when Rufus and Reeve first came back after the late president’s murder. 

Thankfully, there’s a few things in the guest room that the Turks used. She finds a sweater that hasn’t been touched in years, and pants that’ll be fine with a belt wrapped tight around his waist. 

When she returns to the sitting room with dry clothes and towels and blankets all stacked in her arms, Reeve has a fire going in the fireplace, poking restlessly at the logs. They burn fast, probably very dry after sitting in an mostly unused house for many years. 

They’ve left puddles and muddy footprints throughout the foyer and hallways, but she doesn’t care. The only thing she cares about right now is how warm the fire is, and how nice it feels to be wearing clothing that isn’t stuck and chafing against her skin, even if she is wearing Rufus’s clothes. 

She kneels on layers of blankets, holding her trembling hands out to warm them, but she knows the shaking has nothing to do with the cold. The horrifying image of Scarlet’s appearance had shaken her, horribly burnt and bleeding and broken, dying before her very eyes. 

“You should try to get some rest while you can,” Reeve tells her, his arms too long for the sleeves of his sweater, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he looks down at his phone.

“Have you heard from Tseng yet?” she asks quickly, hopefully. 

“No.” He frowns at her. “I’ll wake you when I do.”

“You’re not going to sleep?”

“No.” He puts his phone down and moves forward to poke at the fire again as the logs pop and crack. “I won’t be able to sleep, and I need to be able to communicate with the others through Cait Sith.”

Charlie lies down on the blanket, propping herself up on an elbow and chewing on her lower lip. She watches him for a moment, shoulders flexing underneath the sweater that seems to be on the verge of tearing at the seams when he moves his arms. 

“I like him,” she says, and Reeve turns his head slightly to glance over his shoulder at her. “Cait Sith, I mean.”

He laughs to himself, replacing the poker and sitting back down, long legs stretched out in front of him. Charlie feels her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. She forces herself to stay awake, wanting to soak in the moment for as long as she can, looking at him for the first time in many long weeks. 

Reeve glances down at her, catching her looking. His cheek flush handsomely in the firelight. “What?” he asks. 

“It’s just . . .” She trails off awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders. _I feel like an idiot. I missed looking at your face. I wish I had never left. I wish I had known you were Cait Sith the entire time._ “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

She smiles weakly at him. “What’s in Kalm?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were going to bring me to Kalm and keep me safe.”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking back towards the fire. “I thought I might bring you to the house where Elmyra and Marlene are staying, just until we figure something else out.” The only answer he receives is the crackling of a log. “We’ll leave in the morning, if that’s all right with you.”

Charlie hesitates, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his profile. “Are you sure they’ll be all right with me staying there?”

“I’m sure.”

“Will you be there, as well?”

“Yes,” he replies, looking at her again, exhausted. “If it’s all the same to you, Madam Vice President, I think it’s past time I’ve turned in my resignation notice, effective immediately, if that’s agreeable with you.”

The longer Charlie remains quiet, the more doubtful Reeve seems to look. She doesn’t disagree with his decision at all, but wonders if he would still choose to resign if the world weren’t going to end in a few days. 

Not wanting to make him any more anxious than he is now, Charlie smiles at him again, holding her hand out to him. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Director Tuesti. I’m sincerely sorry to see you go.”

A smile breaks across his face, relieved and shy. He fits his hand against her own, shaking it firmly, his palm warm and his thumb swiping over one of her knuckles. 

Charlie pulls her hand away first, at the risk of doing or saying something stupid. Even just touching him makes her want to cry. “What does this mean for you, then?” 

“Truthfully, I haven’t considered it very much. I’m trying not to be . . . overly optimistic,” he admits sheepishly. “I thought I might just put off job hunting until we see what happens with Meteor.”

Reeve settles on his back, one arm underneath his head as his eyes flutter closed. It gives Charlie the perfect opportunity to shift slightly closer under the guise of getting comfortable. “What if we go with Cloud and the others? You can come with us.”

“And do what?” His eyes open, and he blinks a few times before looking over at her. “We aren’t fighters, Charlie. And your life is too precious to throw away against Sephiroth, should we survive Meteor.”

She doesn’t know why the words affect her so much. “So when it comes down to it, I’m just another Shinra? My father’s legacy? Keep me safe so the company doesn’t disappear?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies. “If you want to fight, then go. But I won’t have you leave without knowing that I think you should stay.”

“To pick up the pieces of the company that my brother left behind?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Charlotte,” he snaps, lifting his head from his pillow and immediately looking apologetic. “Does it surprise you so much to hear that I might want you to stay for my own selfish reasons?”

She blushes furiously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

They lapse back into silence. Charlie stares up at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance, listening to the rain and the thunder and the wind, the sirens that cut through the storm from outside the estate, the helicopter that fly overhead. 

His voice breaks the silence again, perhaps as uncomfortable as she is. When was the last time a silence between them felt so uncomfortable? “Thank you for coming back for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I want to anyway.”

He must be crazy to think that she would have left him behind. Not in a million years would she leave him behind. 

_But I did,_ she can’t help but think. _I left him with Rufus, and look what’s happened to him now._

“Reeve, I am so sorry,” she breathes, embarrassed and ashamed for the things she’s done and the things she’s had no control over. “I never meant to hurt you.”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. When she looks sideways at him, he looks deep in thought. Charlie pushes herself to her hands and knees, reaching out for his hand to pull him reluctantly into a sitting position. It brings tears to her eyes, the knowledge that she may never get a moment like this again. 

“Did you sleep with him?” Reeve whispers, as if he’s afraid someone might be listening in. “Did you sleep with Cid?”

“No,” Charlie answers, still clinging to his hand with both of her own, only able to hope that he believes her. She knows that he thinks her a liar, and she knows that she has earned that title. It’s not one she’s proud of, but it’s too late to change the things she’s done now. All she can do now is tell him the truth and hope that he recognizes her efforts. “Only you.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but is interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Exhaling shortly through his nose, he answers. “Have you found anything?”

“ _Is Charlotte there with you?_ ”

Charlie can hear Tseng speaking through the phone very clearly, but Reeve lowers it from his ear and turns on the speaker, urging her to talk. “I’m here, Tseng. Are you all right?”

“ _Reno and Rude have found your brother. He’s alive. Meet me at the hospital in Sector Eight, both of you._ ”

Reeve lifts his eyes to look at her, and Charlie’s heart leaps in her throat. “We’re on our way,” he says, hanging up the call. 

* * *

Tseng is the only Turk at the hospital when he and Charlie arrive, both wearing clothes that are too small for them (but at least they’re dry, as Reeve had taken care to hold an umbrella over the both of them on the way here).

“He has a couple of broken ribs, a broken heel, and a few fractures, but all in all, he’ll live,” the doctor says anxiously, eyes flicking between the three of them as if looking at one of them for too long might kill him. 

“If Meteor doesn’t destroy us all, you mean,” Charlie mutters bitterly, and the doctor inclines his head, muted fear flashing across his face. “Can I see him?”

Reeve’s neck almost snaps with the force that he turns his head, looking down at her. Clearing his throat to keep the doctor from answering, he wraps his fingers around her upper arm. “Excuse us, Doctor, do you think the three of us could have a private word?” he asks through gritted teeth, impatient.

The doctor excuses himself, but Charlie doesn’t seem to think it’s an appropriate time to leave them without further answers. She looks up at him, lowering her voice as if trying to pretend Tseng isn’t listening to every word of their conversation. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Reeve says, folding his arms over his chest. “I just thought I might remind you that, behind that door, is the brother of yours that fully intended to execute you with the rest of Avalanche.”

“Because you think, in the short while I’ve been away from Junon, I may have forgotten about that?” Charlie snaps, and while the last thing he wants to do is make her angry, it’s good to see that she’s still herself. “Remind me, was it you or me that spent a week in a cell that _he_ put me in?”

Having said what he wanted to say, he holds his hands up in surrender and takes a step back. This gesture makes her face soften, and she sighs, running a hand through damp and stiff hair. Charlie touches his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze and flashing him a small smile. 

“I’m sorry. If I don’t see him now, I may never get the chance to again, and I don’t want to die with that weighing on my conscience,” she explains, far more gently. “If you’d like to come in with me . . .”

Reeve exchanges a sideways look with Tseng, who is already lowering himself into a chair outside Rufus’s hospital room. “I’ll wait here. I can see him afterwards.”

She hesitates, eyeing Tseng warily. Moving closer to Reeve, she lowers her voice again, turning her body slightly to hide her mouth from the Turk’s line of sight, one hand resting upon his elbow. “I haven’t forgotten what he did to you.”

“I didn’t tell you Rufus did this to me,” he answers, touching the bridge of his swollen nose with the tips of his fingers. It’s still painful, even the lightest touch, but he swallows the pain when Charlie brushes her own fingers across the yellowed bruising on his cheekbone. Her touch is far more comforting than it has any right to be.

He has no choice but to let her go, hoping that seeing her brother in such a sorry state doesn’t make her forgive him so easily. Truthfully, Reeve is very glad to know that Rufus is still alive, and can only hope that his near-death experience has opened his eyes. 

Reeve sits down in the chair beside Tseng, the fluorescent lighting of the hospital blinding, making his head throb. While they sit in silence, waiting for Charlie to come back out, a battle rages atop the Sister Ray, Midgar burns and screams, and the Shinra Electric Power Company’s legacy crumbles all the while as employees flee, under the impression that their president is dead and their vice president is nowhere to be found. 

As the hospital continues to fill up with patients that had been found in collapsed buildings and under debris, the hallway begins to grow a little busier. No one pays them any mind, as half of the patients are unconscious or heavily sedated, and the doctors and nurses and staff who pass them by are too busy to give them even a second glance. 

While Tseng sits calm, flipping through an old magazine and waiting patiently, Reeve can’t help but fidget uncomfortably in the chair every few seconds, his leg bouncing. He can’t say which immediate problem is causing him the most anxiety. Perhaps Meteor and his impending death is what’s causing him to rethink everything in his life, or maybe it’s the idea that Charlie might be in there kissing Rufus that makes his heart beat impossibly fast. 

Suddenly, he wonders if leaving the city is such a good idea. It may seem like he’s trying to run away, but all he wants is a place where he feels comfortable dying. He thinks of Scarlet, propped against the wall with her clothes nearly burned off, skin blackened and charred, the _stink_ radiating off her, the same smell that had lingered in the air the night he and Charlie were caught in the middle of the reactor bombing. 

He doesn’t want his own final moments to mimic that horrific scene, and he certainly refuses to let Charlie’s final moments look so undignified. 

“I’m taking her to Kalm in the morning,” he announces quietly, unsure if Tseng is even listening to him. 

To his surprise, the corners of Tseng’s mouth twitch, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from the magazine. “To your second family?”

Reeve stops moving, every muscle in his body tensing. He grips the arms of the chair tight. “Excuse me?”

“After I saw the burner phone, I had Veld do a little recon.” Tseng flips the page in the magazine, finally looking up to smile smugly. “All the evidence pointed to your little secret being another woman, so I was curious. I was mostly right, wasn’t I?”

His heart drops, causing his stomach to turn. “Leave them alone.”

Tseng scowls. “Hurt the mother of the girl I was tasked with protecting? Hurt the little girl you care so much for?” He adjusts the magazine, shaking his head slightly. “And here I thought we were friends, Director. Don’t worry, I’ve had a few former colleagues keeping an eye on the place while you’ve been away. And I know what you’re thinking, but it’s only Freyra and Emma.”

Reeve isn’t certain whether or not he should thank Tseng (though the knowledge that it’s only Freyra and Emma is certainly relieving). It’s not like he asked for the Turks to get involved, but perhaps he had inadvertently gotten himself involved with the Turks for life the moment he became romantically involved with Charlie. 

“You can just call me Reeve, you know,” he replies, not wanting to say anything else that might offend Tseng. “Charlotte accepted my resignation as of . . .” He holds his watch up in front of his face. “About three hours ago.”

“Congratulations.” 

Reeve hums, slumping in his chair and letting his legs bounce uncontrollably again.

“What are you going to do?”

“Hm?”

“If you’re resigning from Shinra, surely you have other plans.”

For a brief moment, Reeve has to wonder if Tseng has forgotten about Meteor. “I’m mostly concerned about whether or not I’m still going to be alive in a few days, actually.”

Tseng chuckles breathily, glancing up at a few passing doctors who are murmuring to each other about the number of predicted casualties inflicted by Weapon’s attack. “Have you always been so hopelessly pessimistic, or was it the company that beat the optimism out of you?”

“Survival seems _falsely_ optimistic at this point.”

“I was only making a joke,” Tseng says, causing Reeve to fidget again, his neck growing warm. “Well, whatever it is you decide to do—should you survive, of course—so long as Charlotte stands behind you, the Turks will, as well.”

That makes him smile, and Reeve finds himself rethinking not only his life now, but his hatred of the Turks, his open contempt towards them, all because of their involvement in Charlie’s life. The past few weeks would have been much more difficult without them, he thinks. 

He holds his hand out, and Tseng shakes it without much doubt or hesitation, firm and solid. “Thank you.” 

* * *

There are small cuts all over his handsome face, and he isn’t wearing a shirt, but his torso is wrapped tight in thick bandages, and his left foot is in a white synthetic cast, propped up on some pillows. His arms are covered in bruises, like someone had kicked him several times. 

She thinks he’s asleep, but as she approaches his bed side and sits down in the empty chair beside him, Rufus’s eyes flutter open. There are dark shadows beneath them, and his face is shiny with sweat. She’s never seen him look so weak before, and while the sight is rather pathetic, Charlie thinks that she’s allowed herself to be seen recently in much worse shape. 

“Oh, Rufus . . .” she sighs, pushing his hair out of his eyes. His forehead is hot to the touch. “What happened to you?”

In spite of all that he’s done lately, Charlie cradles his face with her hand. His eyes close again when he nuzzles into her palm, his jaw shut tight and lips pursed together like he’s about to cry. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he croaks, eyes snapping open the moment she pulls her hand away from him. “I thought you would have left the city already. Where is Reeve?”

She smiles weakly down at him. “He’s just outside with Tseng.”

“Tseng?” Rufus asks quickly. His eyebrows knit together. “He’s . . . ?”

“Reeve saved him, Rufus. Would you like me to go get them?”

Rufus’s face colors despite the relief that seemingly washes over him, and he turns his head to look away from him. “No. I was only asking.” After another moment, he looks back at her, as if attempting to gauge her reaction. If he hopes to trick her into talking to him by making her feel guilty for teasing him, it isn’t going to work this time. “So I suppose you’ll be going back to your new friends?”

“No,” she replies quietly. “Reeve and I are going to Kalm tomorrow, to wait everything out.”

“With him?” When Rufus speaks, his voice breaks. There’s something sad about him, like everything he’s ever buried has breached the surface, finally spilling over while alone with his sister. “But I love you.”

He reaches out to hold her hand, but Charlie pulls it away before he can touch her. Rufus exhales a soft little breath, a pout on his pink lips. “I love you, Rufus, and there’s always going to be a part of me that’s in love with you,” she whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear, “but you imprisoned me and were going to have me killed. You have continually threatened and hurt someone I love very much. You hurt _me._ You used me and treated me like an object that was yours and yours alone. I loved you in spite of everything, and you broke my heart.”

Rufus is quiet, but he certainly looks ashamed of himself. His cheeks are bright pink, the only color left on his pale face, and he lowers his eyes. 

“We were supposed to do this together, as equals. We were supposed to build a future that Father could never have dreamed of.”

“I gave you that chance—”

“No, you didn’t. You would have kept me as nothing but a trophy.”

“And I’m supposed to just believe that’s not the same line of thinking that Reeve shares? How could you love him, Charlie? How could you still want to marry him?”

“You think my love for Reeve is fabricated, or that I’m only pretending for the sake of appearances,” she continues, feeling confident—powerful, even—in a way she’s never truly felt with her brother. No one can hurt her here, and Rufus’s closest allies would never lay a finger on her. “But he has been kind to me since the moment I met him, and my feelings were important to him. I was a person to him, like I never was to you, and he has never hurt me, or touched me without my explicit consent.”

Still, he refuses to speak. She wonders if it’s due to pride, or if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say. 

“Of course I love him. He’s so smart and clever and well-spoken, and he makes me laugh. And he loves me.” Charlie wonders if he’s even listening. “I don’t care if you apologize to me, but you owe him an apology.”

When she still can’t get a response out of Rufus, she gets to her feet slowly. He’s still her little brother, she reminds herself, and it’s then that she’s reminded of something. 

“While I was with Avalanche, we went to Cosmo Canyon,” she says, and this seems to catch her brother’s attention. He looks up eagerly at her, raising his eyebrows. “It’s where Mother went after she left Midgar, and it’s where she died.”

She isn’t going to leave without hearing him speak again. It’s odd, as Rufus is someone who has always loved the sound of his own voice. And finally, he speaks in a hoarse voice full of suppressed emotion. 

“I heard you went to outer space in your rocket.”

The subject throws her off guard, but she goes along with it. “I did.”

“What was it like?”

_Indescribable,_ she thinks. “It was everything I dreamed it would be.”

“Mother would have been so proud of you.” 

These simple words have an unexpected, but profound effect on her. Clearing her throat, Charlie stoops to brush Rufus’s hair aside, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Good-bye, Rufus.”

She’s halfway to the door when he calls out for her again. She stops mid-stride, looking over her shoulder at him, tears burning her eyes. “Send Reeve in,” he rasps. 

When Charlie exits the room, Reeve gets quickly to his feet, pulling her out of the way of the doctors that rush past. “How is he? Is he all right?”

She glances sideways at Tseng, who flips lazily through a magazine, but Charlie is certain he’s still listening. Lowering her voice, she leans into Reeve, looking up at him. “Do you think it would be all right if we left Midgar tonight instead of in the morning?”

“Yes, of course.” He rubs her upper arms gently, eyes roving over her face. “Are _you_ all right?”

“I’m fine. Rufus wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t believe her, she knows, but she’ll have plenty of time to explain on the ride to Kalm. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“Take your time,” she smiles. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

He feels a pang of guilt upon seeing Reeve’s face again. Up close, the skin underneath his eyes still seems swollen, but if he’s in pain, he gives no indication of it. 

“How are you feeling?” Reeve asks him politely from the chair that Charlie had just been occupying, eyes sweeping over his bandaged abdomen and the cast on his foot. 

He won’t be able to walk for months, and the doctors said it might not heal fully for over a year—not that it matters anymore. “Like shit,” he answers, feeling relieved when Reeve smiles. Rufus looks away, cursing his own damned weakness. “My sister seems to think I owe you an apology.”

Reeve is quiet, and it infuriates him. He can’t help but wonder how Charlie had been so patient with him while he gave her the silent treatment. To be fair, Rufus wasn’t really sure what she expected him to say, and he didn’t want to say anything that would make her angry or hurt her, so he just chose not to say anything. 

“But I think I owe you several.” He doesn’t want to see the expression on Reeve’s face. He’s already won—he got the girl and her love and respect, helped try to save the world, cared for the city while Rufus fixated on more personal matters. 

“I don’t really think this is necessary—”

“Charlie does.”

Reeve frowns, obviously uncomfortable and eager to be free of this confining hospital room. 

“She loves you very much,” Rufus continues quietly, shifting as much as he can against his pillows, his ribs throbbing painfully. His mind feels a little foggy, probably the painkillers starting to wear off. “Listen, should we survive Meteor, I have every intention of rebuilding my father’s company, and this time, it can be—”

“Actually, I’m going to stop you right there.” Reeve smiles a nervous little smile, and Rufus is slightly taken aback that he’s had the audacity to cut the president of Shinra off in the middle of his speech. “ _If_ we survive Meteor, I . . .” He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Rufus, I’ve already told your sister that I have no intention of returning to Shinra, and she has accepted that.”

Rufus falters, unable to deny that this is a blow to the company. Perhaps it’s premature to start thinking about a future that may not exist. 

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you,” he says again, and Rufus feels childlike and small, bed-ridden and pathetic and in pain. “I really couldn’t care less whether or not you apologize to me. With the world potentially ending soon, I’m feeling very forgiving, and as soon as I’m done here, I’m going to take Charlie and put Midgar behind us for the time being.”

For Charlie’s sake, Rufus holds his tongue. 

“What you did to Charlotte was infinitely worse than anything you have ever done to me.” Reeve shrugs, sighing very heavily. “If you owe anyone several apologies, it’s her.”

This makes Rufus burst into uncontrollable laughter. It’s painful, shaking his body and making his broken ribs hurt. Reeve looks at him like he’s lost his mind, and perhaps he has. He can’t remember the last time he laughed like this. 

“Do you find that funny?”

“Yes,” Rufus answers breathlessly. “Charlie said the same thing about you.”

After Rufus calms down, Reeve gets to his feet, brushing off the front of his sweater. It looks two sizes too small for him, his wrists poking out of the sleeves, the fabric strained against his shoulders and chest. It looks ridiculous. 

“I _am_ sorry, you know.” It’s an inadequate apology, but Rufus doesn’t know what else to say. Nothing will ever make up for what he’s done to Charlie, and it’s not like he has anything to offer Reeve right now. 

“Take care of yourself, Rufus,” Reeve says, but it sounds sad, like he’s looking down on some dying animal. He reaches out to grab Rufus’s extended hand, giving it a firm shake, “while you still can.”

“You, too.” 

“We’ll talk again.”

Rufus snorts. “I look forward to it.”


	68. Chapter 68

“Hey, cat!” Barret says, as all eight of them spread out upon the bridge of the _Highwind_. “Tell Charlie we’re leavin’. She’s got twenty minutes to get her ass on this damn airship or we’re leavin’ without her.”

“Oh, about that . . .” Cait Sith speaks rather quietly, and Barret turns around to face the cat, frowning. “Charlie isn’t coming with us.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuffie scoffs, swinging her legs back and forth from the little perch where Charlie typically sat, close to Vincent. 

It seems to take Barret a second to register what’s going on. His eyebrows are furrowed as he thinks, but then his face hardens and he approaches Cait Sith with a murderous look in his eyes. “The hell did you _do_ to her?”

“No one did anything to her! Reeve is taking her to Kalm!” the cat continues hastily, holding his hands up in defense. Cid leans against the control panel of the _Highwind_ , folding his arms over his chest. “It was her decision to stay! Barret, st—”

As Barret reaches out for the little robot’s neck, Tifa rests a hand upon his bulky forearm, stopping him from doing anything too fucking stupid, like break the only connection they have left to Charlie. 

“Leave him alone, Barret,” Tifa tells him in a gentle voice.

“ _Thank_ you,” Cait Sith says pointedly to Tifa, who continues in her attempt to calm Barret down. The cat wrings his hands anxiously, waiting for someone to break the tension. 

With his breathing a little more steady, Barret looks to Cid for answers. “Did you know ‘bout this?”

Cid hesitates, exchanging a sideways glance with Vincent, who looks suspiciously bored with the conversation. She must have told him, too. “Yeah,” he answers, “I knew.”

“She left without even saying good-bye?” Nanaki asks, huffing softly and looking back out towards Midgar. 

“Look, the kid wanted a quiet and dignified exit, probably ‘cause she knew _you_ —” Cid gestures lazily towards Barret—“would give her shit ‘bout stayin’ behind with a bunch of Shinra suits.”

Barret grumbles to himself, not even able to deny it. He rubs the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders and looking towards Cloud, presumably for some back-up.

“Let her go,” Cloud says, not really looking at all bothered either way.

Barret grumbles some more. “You better take good care of that kid, cat, or you’ll be hearin’ from me.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Cait Sith teases.

“Better fuckin’ not!” Barret colors, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. He turns away from them all, one hand on his hip. “Guess we’ll see her again when this is all over. Fuckin’ president of Shinra Incorporated, huh . . . who would’a thought . . . ‘bout time Shinra had a competent president. Too bad it’s the end of the world . . .”

“How could she leave us like that?” Yuffie continues to complain loudly, drowning out the others’ voices as they try and decide what the fuck to do next. “After all the time we spent together? I thought we were a family!”

“You’re really gonna blame her for that?” Cid snorts, lighting a cigarette, despite being told several times before not to smoke on the bridge. It’s his fucking airship, though, and he doesn’t feel like walking out to the deck. “We ain’t her family. She knows we all hate Shinra here. You think she’d rather spend her last days with us, or people she’s known pretty much her whole fuckin’ life?”

Barret frowns again, like he’s deep in thought, considering Cid for a long time. So long that it starts to make him fidget under such scrutiny. “I thought you and Charlie . . . were . . . y’know . . .” He casts an apologetic look at Cait Sith, who remains silent. 

_Yeah, just fucking announce to her boyfriend that I was putting the fucking moves on Charlie, fucking moron._ “It’s not like I thought we were gonna get married, okay?” he hisses, cigarette between his lips. “I knew what I fuckin’ signed up for.”

Cid doesn’t know if that’s true. He didn’t really sign up for anything at all. It all just seemed to _happen_ and now she’s gone again, but this time he knows that she cares about him, and this time he knows that it was all real. 

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t hurt as badly this time. Just knowing that she loved him—and he _knows_ she does, even if she refused to say it—is enough, enough to allow him the chance to move on for the first time in years. 

So long as they’re lucky enough to survive. 

* * *

Reeve puts the car in park right outside the front doors of a dark building in Sector Eight. 

It’s been a silent ride in an undercover car that Tseng had allowed them to use, with not even the radio on to lighten the mood. Without the Shinra logo on the sides, it may keep people from trying to stop them from leaving the city, he had told them, while giving Reeve the keys and pressing a kiss to Charlie’s temple. 

The only sounds are the soft rumbling of the engine, the rhythmic swishing of the windshield wipers, and the tapping of rain upon the top of the car. 

She wants to ask what Rufus said to him, but finds that she doesn’t have the courage. She doesn’t want to know, and he clearly doesn’t want to tell her. Besides, if Rufus had said something horrible, it’s unlikely that Reeve would still be here, chauffeuring her around a chaos-ridden Midgar after midnight. 

Reeve shuts the car off, and he’s unbuckling his seatbelt when Charlie finally asks, “What are you doing?”

With one leg already out of the car, he pauses. “I just have to get a few things from my apartment. I’ll just be a minute.” And then, after another pause, he asks, “Do you want to come in?”

“Are you sure?”

He smiles exasperatedly at her. “Come on, Charlie.”

The lobby is completely deserted, and they have to use a flashlight to light their way as they climb the stairs, but his apartment is only on the eighth floor, so it isn’t an impossible climb (though it’s far more stairs than she wants to climb, and she never wants to see stairs again in her life after this). 

His place is not small, but it’s certainly not the luxury thing their old apartment had been. Plenty of light filters in through the many windows so she’s able to see well enough without any artificial light from the decorative lamps around the room. 

Her first thought is that the place is very clean. There aren’t any dishes in the sink or take-out food containers on the coffee table. Truthfully, the apartment hardly looks lived in at all. There’s nothing on the walls, there aren’t any pictures anywhere, or anything that might indicate this is even _his_ apartment and not some stranger’s home they’re looting. 

Her second thought pertains to the noticeable absence of Cat. 

Charlie walks quietly through the kitchen and living room, past a half-opened door, behind which she can hear Reeve shuffling around within. She peeks inside to see him holding a small flashlight between his teeth as he unceremoniously throws some things into his bag. The room is set up like an office, with a little more of his personal effects on display. 

She continues past the door to the end of the hallway, where there are two doors on either side. One is only the bathroom, but when she pushes open the other door, fumbling slightly in the darkness, she finds herself in his bedroom. 

Once she opens the curtains, Meteor brightens the interior for her. This room is slightly more lived in, with a few ties thrown over the foot of the bed and some suit jackets hanging off a hook on the closet door. Whatever books he couldn’t fit in his office seem to all be piled in here, stacked on the dresser by the television or on the floor in the corners of the room, all thick instruction and engineering books that would bore anyone else to tears. 

Charlie knows she shouldn’t look around, and knows that she doesn’t have the right to look through his private things, but her curiosity gets the better of her. It hurts to think that he’s been comfortable living here on his own, and she wonders if anyone else has seen the inside of this place. The thought makes her stomach roil unpleasantly. 

There’s nothing on his nightstand but a lamp, a bottle of water, and a digital clock that doesn’t give the time with the power being out. She glances over her shoulder towards the empty threshold, biting down on her lower lip as she slides opens the drawer.

The drawer is filled with things. It holds a few small keys, all the small drawings of her that had been missing from her own apartment, photographs and—

She reaches into the drawer and picks up the engagement ring sitting pretty atop the small stack of photographs. It flashes and shines against the orange light that filters into the bedroom, ten carats of genuine diamond with the platinum band that she loved so much. 

She doesn’t hear him approach, only hears him clear his throat from behind her. Charlie jumps, turning around and blushing furiously, still holding the ring in her hands. “I’m sorry!” she breathes, placing the ring back in the drawer and shutting it quickly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping. That was . . . wrong of me.”

Reeve smiles weakly at her. “No, it’s fine.”

“It’s a nice place.” She holds her hands behind her back, still burning with embarrassment and looking around the bedroom. “It’s very clean.”

“I don’t spend much time here, to be honest.” He sets his bag and flashlight down on the end of the bed, opening the dresser and digging around inside. “I really only pay to sleep here.”

“Where’s Cat?” she asks. 

Reeve hesitates, looking at her curiously while he lifts the small sweater over his head, leaving him clad in an undershirt that’s still wet with rain and sweat. “I brought him to Kalm, for Marlene to care for. I didn’t have the time for him, unfortunately.” He turns back to the dresser, only to speak again. “Have you been back to your apartment since you left Costa del Sol?”

“Once, before Rufus and I left for Nibelheim. I thought you might be home, but when I got there . . .” Charlie admits, averting her eyes as he fishes some more clothes out of the drawers. “All of your things were gone.”

He looks sorry about it, or close enough that it makes no matter to her. When he pulls a different sweater over his head, he ruffles his hair, and it feels so domestic that she could cry again. “You didn’t really think I was going to stay there, did you?” he asks quietly, like the answer is so terribly obvious. 

Charlie chooses not to answer that question. “I’ll wait for you by the door.”

Thankfully, Reeve doesn’t make her wait very long. Within five minutes, they’re heading back down the stairs again in silence. Charlie can’t describe the uneasy feeling that settles over her, but when he opens the passenger-side door for her almost habitually, all of her fears and doubts about his feelings towards her are dispelled. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” he murmurs when she closes the door, and Charlie thinks it’s best to comply with his wishes, watching him turn the key in the ignition. “Do you want to stop by your apartment?”

“No.”

“No? All of your things are there. Surely there are some things you feel worth saving?”

“My apartment is on the top floor of the building,” she replies flatly, picking at some lint on her pants. It would be nice to have some clothes that fit her. She had been forced to leave many of her outfits behind on the _Highwind_ in order to bring her mother’s things along. Truthfully, there are plenty of things that Charlie would like to get from her apartment, but none of those things are worth the massive undertaking that climb would be. 

“We’ll have Tseng get everything,” Reeve smiles at her, as if having read her mind. “He can take a helicopter to the roof and save us the trip.” He pauses, and Charlie wonders why he doesn’t immediately drive away. “Are you ready?”

She thinks she understands, then. Is she ready? Shifting in her seat, she turns her body to face him, seated rather close together in the small car. It’s something sporty, something that befits the dangerous Turk lifestyle. “Are we running away?” she asks. 

“No,” he says, but he doesn’t sound entirely convinced himself. “If Meteor touches down, we’ll all be going to the same place anyway, no matter where we are.”

“But this is our home,” Charlie protests, unsure of whether or not she wants to be convinced to stay. “This is our city. After everything, don’t we owe it to the people to stay?”

“We’ve done all we can,” Reeve replies, a little firmer this time. “I sent out a broadcast hours ago. Anyone who’s still top-side is here by choice. I’m not sure how much protection the plate will offer them, but . . .”

It sounds cold and unlike him. She supposes he’s only being realistic instead of instilling her with false hope. Charlie bites down on her lower lip, rolling it between her teeth. “Are you sure Aerith’s mother will be all right with me staying?”

“Her name is Elmyra, and yes, I’ve told her about you before. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

“All good things, I hope?” she smiles shyly. 

“Of course.” His answer is far more serious than she expects or hopes. He looks at her for a long time, thinking hard. “I’ll come back. Once I bring you to Kalm, I’ll come back to Midgar—”

“No.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want you to do that,” she tells him, blushing. “Either I’m staying here with you, or we stay in Kalm together. It doesn’t matter to me where I die, so long as I’m with you.” After hearing the words spoken aloud, she adds, “If you want to be with me, I mean.”

Reeve purses his lips, and for a moment, Charlie thinks he’s going to argue with her. But then he smiles weakly and puts the car into gear, looking at her one last time before pulling out into the street. “To Kalm it is.”

* * *

Just before Midgar disappears into the night, Charlie turns around in her seat to look back one last time. Reeve glances up at the rearview mirror, trying to see the darkened cityscape, but they’ve driven too far now to see it clearly. The only thing that’s clearly visible is the silhouette of the destroyed Shinra Building, basking in the glow of Meteor. 

He thinks she might be content to keep quiet the rest of the trip, but after turning back around and settling back against her seat, she asks him, “What did you love most about Midgar?”

It’s a fair question. To be fair, it isn’t something he’s thought about much. It’s not like he’s ever had the luxury of time, the ability to stop and admire every street corner or drink at every bar, and it’s this that makes him feel a sudden pang of loss, the loss of everything he still had yet to do. 

“I suppose . . .” Reeve tries to remember his first days in the city, and how it had felt to stand among buildings that stretched towards the sky at staggering heights and feel so small. “The opportunities, like the ability to become a part of something . . . bigger. Even poor little country boys like me.”

He doesn’t think anyone has ever asked him this. It’s difficult to explain, and sad to think about. 

The road to Kalm is not as empty as he would have liked, but he isn’t about to complain about it. Traffic only flows towards Kalm, however, while the other side of the road remains empty. No one is going back to Midgar now, not on the verge of the apocalypse. At least all the noise and light will keep monsters away.

It suddenly occurs to him that it might have been easier to have taken a ride on the _Highwind._ They would have been at Kalm by now, but when Reeve really thinks about it, he much prefers traveling alone with Charlie than subjecting himself to the most awkward meeting he might ever have the displeasure of experiencing. 

“You never talk about your childhood much,” Charlie notes, not unkindly, but as casually as one would remark upon the sunshine. “Don’t you ever think about going home again?”

“Midgar is my home,” he answers, certain about that much, at least. 

“Do you want to know what I loved the most about Midgar?”

“Tell me.”

Charlie looks forward, being jostled slightly by the bumpy road, but uncomplaining. “I loved the city at night. Standing up high, on the top floors of the Shinra Building, on the balcony of our apartment . . . and all the lights flickering on one by one, an entire city coming to life when the sun sets,” she says softly, smiling to herself. “All of those people, all of their lives and families and friends . . . _Shinra_ gave them that.”

“That’s a good answer,” he tells her, and to his pleasure, she turns her head and smiles a tired little smile at him. “Better than mine, anyway. Now I’m embarrassed. Let me change my answer.”

“No, it’s too late now,” she teases, but he can tell her heart isn’t in it. “You already gave your answer. Changing it now wouldn’t seem genuine.”

“What do you mean?” he laughs. “You haven’t even heard my new answer yet. How can you be so sure?”

“All right.” Charlie’s head is resting against the back of her seat, but she’s looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, blinking slowly. “Tell me what your new answer is.”

“The people,” he says, remembering moments spent looking out the windows of his office, looking down upon his little kingdom and the city he helped build. “The community, and their resilience in the face of disaster. The knowledge that I have contributed to bettering their lives, to making them comfortable within the city.”

She doesn’t answer him, but when he glances sideways to make sure she’s still awake, it’s to find her still looking at him with a small smile on her face. 

It makes him blush. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head and turns away, looking out the window. “I think I’m just tired.”

“You shouldn’t keep secrets, darling,” Reeve chides her light-heartedly. “You don’t want Meteor to reach us and have regrets, do you?”

“I don’t have any secrets from you anymore,” she answers, sighing heavily. “Besides, it’s not that. It’s . . .” Charlie turns to face him again, such a sweet sight that he has a hard time keeping his eyes ahead of him. “What if Elmyra and Marlene don’t like me?”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

She gives him a look that very clearly communicates what she wants to say without requiring her to say it. 

“Charlotte, I’ve told Elmyra about you before. She knows very well what you’ve been up to these last few weeks. I think she’ll be very happy to meet you, and I want you to meet Marlene. I think it will be good for her to have you around these next few days.”

Charlie seems surprised by this. “What? Why me?”

Reeve looks at her again, smiling. “Well, you know how she feels. She misses Barret.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in comprehension, and she lapses into a long silence. It’s another ten minutes or so until she feels the need to speak again. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with them, have you?”

“When I was able to sneak away from Midgar and the company, yes,” he admits, half-expecting her to launch into some jealous tirade, but she doesn’t seem to have the energy. It would be almost reassuring to see some shadow of her former self. 

But it seems Charlotte is full of surprises now. “I’m sorry that I never told you about Rufus.” She’s teary-eyed, and the words sound forced from her, like she still doesn’t want to admit it. “I was afraid of him. I was so afraid that he would hurt you.”

“Oh,” he says stupidly, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable hearing her apologize for her brother. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I don’t . . . it’s not your fault.”

She scoffs. “I was the one that started the whole thing, when we were children.”

“Fooling around as children is not the same as what Rufus knowingly did to you as adults.” This is the last conversation he wants to have with her right now, but Reeve knows it may be the last chance they have to talk about it at all. He chooses not to tell her that Rufus very probably _does_ love her in his own way, but just doesn’t know how to show it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cait Sith.”

Charlie laughs very quietly. “You know, in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t seem like a big deal,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. 

After that, they’re quiet the rest of the time, though she does fiddle with the radio, trying to find a satellite station that isn’t static. 

The music is welcome, and she even sings along under her breath, humming when she doesn’t know the words, staring out the window as they continue towards Kalm. 

* * *

The streets of Kalm are quiet. 

It’s nearing three o’clock in the morning now, and the sleepy town seems stuck in a time long forgotten. 

Reeve drives them through the center of town, where the road circles around a cobble-stoned plaza. There are no traffic lights here, but yellow street lamps light their way. All of the houses look the same, just like in Midgar, but the architecture here doesn’t rely so much on steel beams and pipes, not needing half as much mako as Shinra’s glorious city of Midgar.

The house is a bit out of the way, on the outskirts of the town and away from the city center. It’s dark inside all of the windows, and too dark outside for her to properly discern what the exterior of the house looks like, but she can see that it’s two stories, a narrow thing with a gable roof and a chimney. 

Reeve climbs out of the car, but Charlie hesitates, lingering in the passenger seat. She looks up at the house again, not entirely convinced that her presence won’t cause Elmyra any grief. After all, isn’t it Shinra’s fault that Aerith is dead? Didn’t Shinra start this whole mess? What right does she have to be here? What right does she have to intrude upon a makeshift family, made up of Elmyra and Barret’s small daughter?

She ends up gathering the courage to follow him to the front door, her bag slung over her shoulder. Reeve digs around in his pockets for a key, slipping it into the door.

“You’re just going to walk in?” she asks, eyes wide. 

He gives her a bewildered look, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. “Well, I’m certainly not going to knock at this hour,” he answers, flipping the lights on the foyer and closing the door behind Charlie as she moves slowly inside. 

To her left is a fully furnished living room with the fireplace to match the chimney, and to her right is the kitchen, a wide room with a table big enough to comfortably sit four. There are no personal effects anywhere, no pictures hanging on the paneled walls or books stacked on the shelves, but flowers are everywhere.

There are several decorative vases wherever there’s an empty space, filled with colorful flowers that aren’t found anywhere near the city. She brushes her fingertips over a few purple ones, their petals soft to the touch. 

A hardwood staircase is at the opposite end of the foyer, and while she can see up it, the hallway continues to the left and right behind walls, and she isn’t offered a view of the bedrooms. 

Reeve must recognize the anxiety that surely shows on her face. “It’s fine, Charlie, just try to keep quiet. Marlene is a light sleeper.”

As if on cue, she hears the creaking of a door from upstairs and the slow pitter-patter of childish feet. Reeve curses softly, dropping his bag by the front door as a dark-haired, little girl comes wandering sleepily down the topmost steps, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles and clutching the banister with her free hand. 

“Reeve?” comes her voice, soft and tired and shy. 

Marlene makes her way further down the stairs, swaying from side-to-side as if she’s sleepwalking. She’s a sweet-looking girl with wide doe eyes, a round face and a button nose, with dark hair that sticks up on one side from sleeping on it. 

He turns to face Charlie, lowering his voice and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Make yourself at home,” he urges gently, taking a step backwards towards Marlene. “Let me just put her back to bed and I’ll be right back down.”

Charlie wraps her arms around herself and forces herself to smile, her heart bursting with affection. “Okay.”

He meets Marlene at the foot of the stairs, chiding her teasingly for being out of bed and scooping her into his arms before she can get any closer to or stare any longer at Charlie. She can hear their whispered conversation as Reeve climbs the stairs, skinny little arms wrapped around his neck and a pink cheek resting on his shoulder.

“She’s prettier than you said,” Marlene tells him in a hushed voice, yawning against his neck. 

“I know,” Reeve answers placidly, “but let’s leave her alone right now, all right?”

Once he turns the corner at the top of the stairs, Charlie can’t hear what they’re saying anymore, but her heart still softens all the same. Those aren’t the actions of a little girl who has been kidnapped and mistreated, like Barret worried about for so long. 

It makes her sad, too, the fact that she may miss out on having a family of her own, the fact that she may miss out on seeing him dote over a young daughter of their own. 

It makes her think of Veld, and the nights that he would carry her inside the villa after a long day spent at the beach, tucking her into bed with her hair still stiff from the salt water. 

She inspects the living room first, pleased to see it slightly more cluttered and homey. This is where much of Marlene’s things are kept, it seems, schoolbooks and packets of paper, colorful drawings and boxes of crayons and story books about princesses and dragons. 

There’s a picture on the coffee table that must be Marlene’s interpretation of Elmyra. When she picks it up, there’s another drawing of Reeve, and another drawing of three half-familiar stick-figures holding hands, one of them with long hair and another with a gun on his right arm. 

She jumps when she feels something brush very lightly against her ankle, putting the pictures back down in a hurry. Holding back a scream, Charlie whirls around to find a black-and-white tuxedo cat curling around her leg, tail raised high in the air to swipe against her knee. 

“Cat!” she breathes, dropping to her knees and startling him for a moment, but he comes to her again when she holds a hand out. 

He purrs loudly, nuzzling against her face, receptive to her loving touches, darting behind the sofa and out of sight at the sound of Reeve’s footsteps growing closer and closer down the staircase. 

Leaving Cat to his own devices, happily stalking her from between the sofa and the wall, Charlie sighs and smiles awkwardly at Reeve. 

She doesn’t know what to say. The idea that he’s been making a little family of his own is enough to make her heart race. How often had he gone out of his way to come here? To care for them? To look after them? How much time has he given them that he’s never given her? 

_I was too much,_ she can’t help but think, _I was always too much for him, he was just too polite to break my heart._

“Sorry about that,” he says with a nervous laugh, running his fingers through his hair. It just falls right back into his face. 

“No, it’s fine,” she forces herself to say, lowering her eyes. “Duty calls.”

“Are you hungry?”

She’s starving, actually, but doesn’t think she would be able to hold any food down. Lifting her eyes again just to see his face again, she replies, “No, thank you.”

“Okay.” Reeve gestures towards the foyer with his chin, and Charlie follows him out of the living room, watching him stoop to pick his bag back up. “You can sleep in my room tonight. You’ll have to forgive me if it’s a bit messy. I’ll show you where—”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—” She stops abruptly, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “I can make myself comfortable on the sofa.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“I insist,” she says again. “I was sleeping on the ground for weeks. A sofa is just as good as a bed, and probably far better than any bed aboard the _Highwind_.”

“If Elmyra finds out that I’ve taken the bed while you’re here, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just explain to her that I bullied you into submission. She’ll believe that of a Shinra, wouldn’t she?”

The words are far more bitter than she intended them to be, and it wipes the small smile off Reeve’s face almost instantly. He seems taken aback by her answer, and Charlie immediately regrets saying it, flushing head to toe. 

“Charlie . . .” he begins, looking troubled by the implication of her words. “If you’re not comfortable here, we can go somewhere else.”

“No, no, I don’t want to make you—” She feels half a child in front of him, throwing a jealous tantrum while the world is ending. “No, this is fine.”

Really, she wants to go home, but she doesn’t know where home is. She supposes her home is on the topmost floor of a tall building in Midgar, overlooking Sector Eight in all of its glory. Her father’s home is a place she would rather avoid, and the villa is all the way in Costa del Sol. 

_I have nothing without the company,_ she thinks. _I have nowhere to go, I have no money with me, I have no power, and I have to rely on people who don’t even know me, people that have been wronged by Shinra._

Reeve clears his throat, glancing down at his watch. “Do you want to have a drink? I know it’s late, but . . . I think I could spare a little more time, all things considered.”

“A drink sounds great, actually,” Charlie admits. A little alcohol might put her at ease. “Do you keep a stocked liquor cabinet here?”

To her surprise, he laughs, albeit quietly. “I was thinking something more along the lines of tea, but liquor works.”

She seats herself at the kitchen table while Reeve rummages around in the pantry, retrieving a few bottles and holding them up for her approval. She chooses an expensive whiskey she knows to be produced in a distillery in Midgar’s Sector One. 

He fills her glass until it’s half-full, and then does the same for himself. With a _clink!_ of their glasses, they drink. 

“You know, you still haven’t told me about outer space,” he tells her, sounding genuinely interested in hearing about it. “You should be very proud.”

“I suppose I am,” she says. 

The launch had been terrific, and being there with Cid had been everything she had ever dreamed of once, but something had been missing. The dream had come true, but long after she had given up on it and made new goals and dreamed up new dreams. 

“Sorry for making you drive all the way out here so late,” she continues, afraid of another uncomfortable silence between them. 

“It’s fine. I’ve been doing a lot of traveling lately. I don’t know how you did it.”

She smiles shyly at him across the table. “You get used to it.”

The alcohol has already helped. It’s warm down her throat, heat pooling in her stomach. It drives the tension out of her spine and shoulders, temporarily makes her forget about Meteor while she stops to appreciate this quiet moment between them. 

Charlie looks down at her glass, tracing the lip of it with her index finger, her other hand curled around it. A few more long drinks and she might pass out right here in this chair, though it likely wouldn’t be a good first impression if Elmyra came downstairs in the morning to find the vice president of Shinra asleep with her forehead on the kitchen table, reeking of whiskey. 

“I saw the picture Marlene drew of you,” she giggles, glad to have something to latch onto as far as conversation, glad it makes him smile. “The likeness is striking, truly. I really think she nailed the beard.”

“You think?” he laughs, combing it with his fingers. “As it happens, I am an _excellent_ model. I think it’s just that . . . indescribable quality.”

That makes Charlie laugh, too. It’s real laughter that makes her chest bloom with sudden warmth, but it immediately makes her feel guilty. 

She knows there are serious conversations that they need to have, that they’ll end up dancing around until Meteor collides with the planet. She knows there are serious things she needs to apologize for, but the words get caught in her throat when she even just considers saying them. 

She drinks deep again, finishing off her glass. It’s been a long time since she’s had alcohol this good. Her head is already buzzing. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his glass back to the table. Charlie quickly rearranges her features, but Reeve has already caught on. “It’s all right. Tell me.”

“I just . . . want to thank you,” she starts lamely, sighing as she fumbles for words, “for what you did for Tseng, and Rufus, and Veld. And I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.” Charlie looks towards the stairs, wanting to cry. “And what you’re doing for Elmyra and Marlene . . .”

Reeve is quiet, but it gives her a moment to think and gather her thoughts. She knows that all he did for the people she loved was not _for_ her. She knows him, and knows for a certainty that all he did, he did out of the goodness of his heart. 

How could she ever thank him properly? She has and _is_ nothing, has only ever caused him grief and hardship, frustration and conflict. It would have been the ultimate kindness to stay far, far away from him from the beginning. But she had been too selfish, too greedy, too desperate for him to love her, and she had been young and sickeningly in love and unaccustomed to such sweet and tender devotion. 

Even Cid wouldn’t have gone out of his way to save Rufus or Tseng, and Charlie had known that. When he told her he loved her aboard the _Highwind_ , he hadn’t understood the implication and the scope of his words. Cid wouldn’t have tried to return for her brother, wouldn’t have hidden Tseng somewhere safe. 

Charlie clears her throat, pushing her glass away. “I think I’m just going to try and get some sleep.”

“Please take the bedroom,” he urges again, gently. “Or I’ll be forced to carry you there myself.”

Feeling bold, she tells him, “You could just come to bed with me.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation as he holds the cup back up to his face, like he hadn’t quite heard her properly. Reeve sighs, finishing his drink and smiling exasperatedly. “I love you, Charlie, I do,” he says, “but what would that say about me?”

Charlie looks away, blushing hard. 

“I know why you left, and I understand. Truly, I understand why, and I’m not angry about it. There are far more important things to worry about, and I know that your intentions were good. I don’t blame you for the way your brother reacted.” He’s so patient and level and calm, and Charlie thinks this may be infinitely worse than being yelled at. “But I was forced to watch you and Cid grow close to each other for weeks, and . . . I don’t know, I guess you just made me feel like a fool.”

“It was never my intention to hurt you—”

“But you did,” he protests, still smiling in a condescending way that sets her blood to boiling. “And I believe you—I’m sure that none of it was done maliciously, and I—” Reeve shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I should have been there. I should have given you more of my time, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you felt that I let you down, or hurt you in any way, and I’m sorry if I was . . . jealous of . . . I didn’t realize what Tseng meant to you, and I was unaware of the depth of your relationship with Rufus . . . and for that, I apologize.”

Charlie doesn’t stop him, but she doesn’t really think he owes her an apology for anything. 

“And I’m sorry for spying on you, and for lying. There are a lot of things I’m sorry for.”

“Me too,” she says, though it isn’t enough. 

“Why are you here? Why did you even come back?”

The answer comes easily to her. “Because I wanted to be with you. Because I missed you. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because I love you. And I know that ‘sorry’ will never be enough to make up for what I’ve done to you.”

Reeve’s hands jump to his face, rubbing his eyes and looking half-asleep. 

“I shouldn’t even be here.” She begins to panic, heart beating hard and fast against her chest. “I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like this, and you’ve been so kind and accommodating—”

He smiles at her, shaking his head. “Charlie, stop panicking. I _want_ you here.”

Charlie can’t believe that. She isn’t worth this kindness. She isn’t worth this love. “I know that I don’t hold the power that I used to,” she says to him, “but if I could do anything for you right now, what would you ask of me?”

He thinks for a long time, elbows propped on the table, chin resting upon his knuckles. “It’s not just us in this house, so for the sake of Marlene, I think I just want things to be normal until the planet is destroyed, or Meteor is gone.”

That doesn’t seem so unreasonable. He isn’t asking for a future with her, isn’t asking her to beg for his forgiveness, isn’t asking for anything other than comfort in these last few days. 

“Okay,” she whispers, unsure as to what she’s agreeing to, and how far he’s willing to take things. 

He seems to regret it, but doesn’t rescind his request. Instead, he stands up and closes the bottle of whiskey, bringing their glasses to the sink. “It’s late,” he notes, “we should get to bed, then.”

His bedroom is cramped, but not because it’s too small, he just has too many things inside. There’s a desk against the far wall with two monitors and a lot of wires tangled at the base, while a bed has been shoved against another wall. Reeve hurriedly picks up the clothes off the ground, shoving them into his dresser and his closet and his hamper.

“Sorry,” he mutters, wiping some crumbs off the bed and blushing, “I tell Marlene all the time not to eat in my bed, but . . . she’s five, so . . .”

Charlie laughs weakly. “It’s all right. She’s very taken with you, isn’t she?”

Reeve colors, standing back up to his full height. “She’s just lonely, I think, and misses her father.” He looks around the room and then fixes his gaze on her, as if nervously awaiting her approval. “Do you need clothes? You can wear some of mine tonight, if you’d like.”

Through the window behind him, Charlie catches sight of Meteor, still a ways away in the distance, but growing closer all the while. She drops her bag onto the ground (as carefully as she can, with her mother’s things inside), leaning forward to fall into him, hoping that he doesn’t recoil or pull away from her. With her arms around his middle, she buries her face into his chest, sobbing. 

_Oh,_ is the only thought that springs to the forefront of her mind when his arms snake around her, holding her close. 

_Home._


	69. Chapter 69

Charlie wakes the next morning to the bedroom door opening. When she opens her eyes, her body aching and exhausted, it’s to find that it’s barely dawn. 

“Reeve,” comes Marlene’s soft little girl’s voice, and Charlie watches through half-opened eyes as she gives his shoulder a slight shake, “I’m hungry. Will you make me breakfast?”

He groans quietly, slightly muffled with his face pressed against the t-shirt Charlie’s wearing. “I’m up, I’m up,” he murmurs groggily, still being shaken. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

When the door opens and closes again, Reeve makes no move to get out of bed. Charlie, as tired as she is from only a few hours of sleep, combs her fingers through the back of his hair, the arm that’s underneath his pillow tingling uncomfortably, but she doesn’t want to move and break the spell. 

She wants to kiss him all over, just like she did before all of this. Quiet mornings between the two of them, lips touching warm skin, everywhere she could reach, everywhere that was available to her to kiss. 

After another minute of lying so still that he could be dead, he sighs again, propping himself on an elbow and running his hand through his hair. 

It feels like it’s been a long time since she’s seen him upon waking, and the sight is still as sweet now as it had been the last time, even if he is fully clothed. He rolls over and must notice what time it is, because another groan escapes him. 

Charlie reaches out to scratch lazily at his back, listening to his joints pop when he rolls his shoulders. When she pulls her hand away and closes her eyes again, she can feel him shifting on the bed, but he doesn’t get up immediately. 

Her eyes flutter open again when his fingers brush her hair aside, revealing the long, ugly, pink scar on her neck. Charlie tries desperately to hide it, pinching Reeve’s fingers between her cheek and shoulder when he tries to touch it. 

“Don’t,” she whispers. 

“Just let me see it.” He pulls his fingers away, looking down at her through the dark hair that’s fallen into his eyes. 

“You’ve seen it already.”

“Through Cait Sith. Let me see it for myself. It’s my fault that you were put in that position in the first place.” 

Charlie doesn’t think that at all, and doesn’t blame him in the slightest. How was he supposed to know the chain of events that would follow his actions at the Gold Saucer? There was no possible way to anticipate Sephiroth trapping her and Tseng in a room within the bowels of an ancient temple, leaving behind a gory mess. 

She looks up at him for a long time before relaxing her shoulders and opening her neck to him, pushing her hair back. Sometimes the scar tissue feels tight when she turns her head, and she blushes furiously, able to feel his eyes burning a hole through her flesh. She lets her eyes close, not wanting to see the expression on his face, not wanting to see his reaction to her imperfections. 

The feeling of his thumb brushing along the scar makes her heart race and her breath hitch. Charlie keeps her eyes shut tight, the pad of his thumb reaching the very end of it, hovering just beside her pulse and likely able to feel it pounding. 

“Open your eyes, Charlie. Look at me.”

His voice is low and hoarse, and it’s not a command, but more of a desperate plea. When she obeys, it’s to find a troubled expression on his tired face. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For handing you over to Tseng. I’m the reason you were there, at the Temple of the Ancients. I’m the reason you have this scar.”

Charlie shakes her head, taking hold of his hand and turning it over to place a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

_If I hadn’t run away, none of this would have happened. We would still be happy together._

He urges her to sleep for as long as she likes, dressing clumsily in the darkness and slipping out of the bedroom to tend to Marlene. It’s sweet and makes her heart swell again before the longing sets in, the pain and guilt and thoughts of what-ifs. 

She’s exhausted, but with the end of the world potentially only days away, every moment she isn’t doing _something_ feels like a complete waste. 

When Charlie blinks, the sun is shining and some time has passed without her even realizing it. She’s still in the same position she had been when Reeve left the room, staring at the closed door and listening to the sounds coming from the floor below, the sizzling of food and the clanking of pots and pans and dishes, the scraping of chairs against hardwood floors. She can smell bacon cooking, and she can hear the muffled, high-pitched voice of Marlene talking over everyone else, insisting on helping with breakfast. 

It reminds her of her childhood, and she half-expects Veld to knock on the door at any moment, to poke his head in and make sure she’s awake and getting ready for school. Foolishly, she waits for the knock, for the scary old Turk to return to her bedroom and help pick out clothes for her in the dark. 

When Charlie chooses to abandon her childish hopes and dreams, she sits up and looks around at the bedroom while it’s cast in sunlight. 

It’s far more lived in than his apartment, and that fact makes her sad. She knows she has no right to be upset over what he chose to do, or where he chose to go, or who he chose to be with after she left, but it still hurts. 

After ultimately deciding not to go through his things again, Charlie pulls the only clothes out of her bag, clothes she wishes were nicer and cleaner. She doesn’t want to make a bad impression, but a t-shirt with _WUTAI_ emblazoned across the chest and tight leggings certainly aren’t going to make a _good_ impression. 

At least she had been given a chance to shower last night, no longer covered in soot and dirt and sweat and blood. 

She hadn’t even recognized herself upon catching sight of her reflection. It had thrown her into a violent episode of self-loathing, and she had cried quietly into her hands while the scalding hot water had turned her skin pink and raw, mourning the loss of her entire future with the big red omen in the sky drawing nearer. 

With her heart racing, Charlie makes her slow descent down the stairs, on the verge of vomiting all over herself and ruining the only decent outfit she’s brought with her. 

As she reaches the bottom, she hesitates just before the archway that will lead her into the kitchen, wiping her sweaty hands on her thighs. 

It’s just like when she started traveling with Avalanche, and the way they all made her so nervous, like she was an outsider, looking in on a happy family and knowing she would never be a part of that family. 

But she can do this. She’s been forced to wear a smile her entire life, and if Reeve wants her to pretend for Marlene’s sake, then she will. But putting on a fake persona doesn’t mean her nerves settle.

Her resolve wavers upon being greeted by the scene in the kitchen, so picturesque that she doesn’t want to even disturb them with her presence. 

Reeve sits at the kitchen table, flipping through a newspaper and humming distractedly to Marlene as she chatters on about what she and Elmyra had seen on their walk the other day, coloring a picture as she waits for her breakfast to be served. 

Elmyra is a woman that can’t be more than ten years older than Reeve, her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, a stern and severe look to her face that isn’t at all unkind. She hovers over the stove with a pink apron tied around her, looking at complete ease. 

Her first thought is, _they were never his hostages._

Her second thought makes her panic, frozen on the spot. 

How easy it is to see herself as Marlene. It’s an embarrassing thought that Reeve might pity the little girl. To pity Marlene is to pity _her_ , isn’t it? 

Marlene lifts her eyes and spots Charlie in the threshold, eyes going wide. “Reeve,” she whispers in a sing-song voice. 

“I’m listening, darling,” he answers sleepily, never looking away from his newspaper, his back to Charlie. 

“ _Reeve_ ,” she says again, this time more sharply and tugging at his sleeve. 

“Marlene, what is it?” he asks, lowering the paper and turning in his chair to follow her line of sight. “Oh!” 

Charlie wraps her arms around herself, smiling weakly as Reeve gets to his feet. Even Elmyra turns around, not quite looking surprised to see an extra guest, but still looking slightly nervous, flattening her apron. He approaches Charlie quickly, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the table. 

“Charlotte, this is Elmyra Gainsborough, Aerith’s mother,” Reeve says, inclining his head towards her. “Elmyra, this is Charlotte Shinra.”

“It’s so good to finally meet you.” It sounds genuine enough coming from Elmyra, and the anxiety that had been nearly unbearable just a moment ago is washed away the moment both Elmyra and Marlene smile at her. “I’m glad to see that you’re safe, Madam Vice President.”

“Likewise,” Charlie replies, looking sideways at Reeve. “And you don’t have to . . . address me as the vice president.”

“Reeve’s told us all about you, Charlie,” Marlene tells her eagerly, and Reeve immediately blushes, clearing his throat. “And he said that you—”

“Okay,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows at Marlene, who looks away innocently, “that’s enough, Marlene.”

Charlie cocks an eyebrow at the girl, unable to keep a small smile at bay. “You know, Marlene, your father told me a lot about you, as well. And Reeve told me that you’ve been taking _very_ good care of Cat while we’ve been busy. It was such a relief to learn that he was in good hands.”

Marlene brightens at this praise, looking at Reeve with an expression of pure delight. The hand on the small of her back slides up her spine until his fingers are curled around her shoulder, squeezing anxiously. Whether or not he does it knowingly, Charlie isn’t certain, but he draws her slightly closer to him and her heart nearly explodes.

“Are you hungry, Charlotte?” Elmyra asks her, and it’s then that Charlie notices a fourth plate at the table. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh,” Elmyra smiles, casting her gaze towards a very uncomfortable Reeve. “You didn’t tell us how polite she was, Reeve.”

“Forgot that bit, did you?” Charlie teases him, the hand not on her shoulder jumping to the back of his flushed neck. 

“I never had a chance to introduce it organically into conversation, that’s all.”

Marlene sits upon her knees in her chair, hands splayed on the tabletop. “Is it true you went to outer space, Charlie? Reeve said you built a rocket ship and took it to outer space. Is it true?”

“Oh, well—” It’s Charlie’s turn to blush furiously, which seems to make Reeve smile mockingly, all in good fun. “I didn’t really build it. I only helped draw up the plans and oversaw—”

“She’s being modest,” Reeve interrupts quickly. “I don’t think she slept for weeks at a time during the development stages. It was a beautiful rocket.”

“Reeve, _please_ ,” she whispers, unable to blush any harder. Elmyra smiles and turns back towards the stove, but Marlene continues to watch them closely, very interested in their interaction. “You’re being too generous. You’re embarrassing me.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You should be very proud.”

Marlene is very interested, however, in hearing all about Charlie’s brief trip into outer space, and she finds that conversation comes quiet easily with Reeve at her side, prompting her and encouraging her to continue talking. The girl is inquisitive and eager to ask about everything, curious to know all there is about Charlie, talking at length about Barret and Tifa. 

Elmyra’s cooking is excellent, as well, though she isn’t sure if it’s because she’s become so accustomed to eating meat roasted over a fire or cheap food bought from some vending machine inside an inn. Charlie eats slowly, still nervous about the interrogation she’s being subjected to, and even as Marlene continues to talk and talk and talk, Reeve mouths _sorry_ , an apologetic little smile on his face. 

She shrugs her shoulders, holding his gaze for a moment before turning back towards Marlene. 

For fifteen minutes, it’s nothing but, _Charlie, guess what?_ and _Charlie, Reeve told me this_ and _Reeve told me that_ and _Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie_. 

But she doesn’t mind. She answers each of Marlene’s questions, all of them light-hearted and excited, and Charlie is patient with her and glad to be around people who _want_ her around. Besides, she’s sure she was the same way as a child, a little bit annoying with her inability to stop talking and with a desire to impress anyone who might be listening.

When Reeve deems Marlene’s questions far too personal (beginning to stray towards things like Charlie’s romantic history with Reeve), he calls an abrupt end to breakfast, appeasing the girl by offering to take her downtown while he picks some things up for Charlie. 

“Can Charlie come with us, too?” Marlene asks, still wearing her pajamas and inching towards the stairs, eager to dress and leave the house. “She can come, can’t she?”

“Er—” Reeve hesitates, meeting Charlie’s eyes again. “It might be best if Charlie stayed here. There’s a lot more people in Kalm than before, and we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves, do we?”

“I guess not,” Marlene hums.

“Go get dressed,” he tells her quickly, and Marlene sprints up the stairs without another word. 

* * *

He doesn’t own much casual clothing, as he’s never had much use for it. He was always either at the Shinra Building, out to a nice restaurant or the theater with Charlie, or at some company gathering that required them to dress to the nines. 

Even without a tie to compliment the most casual-looking dress shirt he owns, Reeve still has a horrible feeling that he’s going to stand out too much among the refugees that have come all the way from Midgar. 

If no one pays any attention to the perfect fit of his tailored shirt, his golden watch is a dead giveaway, slightly hidden underneath his sleeve, but he doesn’t want to take it off. Charlie had given it to him as a birthday gift a few years ago, and he likes this watch. 

His shoes are another clue, as well, that point towards him being someone important—no, he _was_ someone important— _was_ he ever important?—and may draw a few curious looks, but it’s not like he had brought all of his shoes here from Midgar. 

The last thing he wants is for a group of refugees that are bitter about Shinra’s lack of response to Weapon’s attack to find out Charlie is staying in town. It’s not like it’s her fault that Shinra had failed them, and Reeve doesn’t really believe that, anyway. Rufus had destroyed Weapon before it could completely demolish the city, which was an incredible feat in itself, and without help from the other executives, he and Rufus and the Turks had done what they could, which was far more than nothing. 

He feels sorry for Charlie, however. He had seen the nervous smile on her face as she gave patient answers to just about all of Marlene’s sharp questions, perfectly kind and sweet and warm. It reminded him of their visits to the orphanage, and how much she loved being with the kids, and how much those kids loved being with her.

Maybe he’s asking too much of her. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her here, or asked her to play along with his little game, his own selfish and wishful and indulgent fantasy to comfort Marlene during these last few days. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have slept in bed with her. That was a horrible idea and he’ll admit it, but the promise of falling asleep next to someone who loves him had been far too tempting to ignore.

One week. According to Bugenhagen’s own predictions, there is one week until Meteor hits. One week until this planet is either saved by Holy or destroyed by Meteor. 

Seven days until the end, and he isn’t going to waste any of that time dancing around Charlie, refusing to touch her, refusing to treat her poorly because of misguided decisions she had made, especially when most of those decisions were in the hopes of shielding him from harm. 

Cloud had given everyone leave to visit loved ones, family, and friends before the final showdown, which means that Barret will be here soon to see his daughter, to finally come face-to-face with the man who kidnapped her. 

The thought makes Reeve nervous, and with Rufus, Tseng, and Veld still in Midgar, unable to move the president to Kalm quite yet, there is nowhere else for he and Charlie to go while Barret is here. They could return to Midgar, yes, but the city still lacks power and the upper plate doesn’t seem like the safest place to be in the world right now. 

By the time he shaves and does his hair, Marlene is already done getting dressed. He can hear her in the kitchen talking to Elmyra, and he’s smoothing out the few wrinkles in his shirt as he walks a few feet into the kitchen, freezing in place at the scene he’s intruded upon. 

It’s not Elmyra in the kitchen, but Charlie, too engrossed in her current task to notice him standing there stupidly, her face turned away from him. The front of her touristy t-shirt is wet, clearly having been in the middle of doing the dishes before having her attention taken away. 

Right now, Charlie’s in the middle of braiding Marlene’s dark hair in a complicated sort of way, working her own kind of magic with her deft and nimble fingers without faltering. Marlene stands still as a statue, waiting patiently for her hair to be finished. 

“How do you like living in Kalm?” Charlie asks, and Reeve takes a step backwards to try and remove himself a little from their peripheral view, should they turn slightly and catch him watching. 

“I miss Midgar,” Marlene admits softly. 

It’s a vulnerability that Marlene typically doesn’t like to show in front of him, always putting on a brave face like _he’s_ the one who needs to be comforted. Perhaps having a younger woman around to talk to Marlene was a good idea after all. 

“I do, too,” Charlie sighs, twisting the ends of Marlene’s hair together. “But Kalm isn’t so bad. At least there are flowers here, and it’s much quieter than the city.”

“Are you and Reeve going to leave us? Are you going to go back to Midgar?”

Reeve waits for her answer with baited breath, but Charlie answers rather quickly and sweetly, like she’s already had this answer prepared for months. “Not until your father is back,” she says, a proficient liar even now, but he’s glad for it. “We can’t stay here forever, you know.”

“When is Daddy going to come home?”

This time, there’s a fraction of a second in which Charlie hesitates. “Your father is going to get rid of Meteor, and then the first thing he’s going to do is come see you. It won’t be long now.” 

As she finishes one side of Marlene’s hair, she holds the end of the braid between her ring finger and pinky, reaching for a hair-tie on the countertop before starting on the other side. 

“Has Reeve been good to you, at least?” Charlie asks, and Reeve feels his neck grow warm, stepping further out of the kitchen. 

He means to retreat entirely to the living room, or at least go start the car to put as much distance between himself and that conversation as possible, but he can’t help himself, his curiosity far too strong not to be sated now. 

Marlene _mhm_ ’s as enthusiastically as she can, but it seems talking about Barret has gotten her down. “Sometimes he says he’ll come visit, but he doesn’t,” she adds as an afterthought. “And sometimes all he does is work when he’s here.”

“You can’t be angry with him for that,” Charlie says gently, and his heart does something funny, his stomach clenching and his chest tightening. “He’s a very busy man, but I know he loves being here.”

“Do you know what he told me about you?”

“Oh, Marlene, I’m sure he told you those things in confidence. How would you feel if he told me all of _your_ secrets?”

Reeve smiles to himself, lingering at the bottom of the staircase, unable to see either Charlie or Marlene anymore. He wonders if he should keep her father’s eventual arrival a secret or not. 

“All done,” comes Charlie’s soft voice again, floating through the foyer. “Now, go and get your shoes on. I’m sure he’ll be ready in a minute.”

He’s hit with a sudden ache in his heart, the premature mourning that accompanies the knowledge that he might never have a future, that he might never be able to experience the simple domesticity with her that had been just out of reach for years, that had always seemed so unattainable, considering who she was and their lifestyles. 

They seem simple little wishes when he thinks about it. How many times had he wished for just _one day_ that they could spend lying in bed together? How many times had he wished there were more chances to have dinner at home together? How many times had he imagined this very scene, or something like it? 

As Marlene comes skipping out of the kitchen, she smiles as she catches sight of him (a brave face, indeed), picking up her shoes from near the front door. “Can you help me?” she asks, continuing onto the living room with a spring in her step. 

“In a minute. I’ll be right there.” 

Instead of moving into the living room, he enters the kitchen again, this time making his presence known. He lets his shoes come down a little harder on the floor, and he clears his throat just before Charlie puts her hands back into the soapy water in the left sink. 

“Hey,” she smiles, reaching for more dirty dishes as he comes up behind her. When he’s standing right beside her, her smile begins to fade, and she dries her hands quickly on a tea towel nearby. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

The answer is _no_ , but he bites his tongue and chooses to say nothing. Instead, he stoops to wrap his arms around her waist, burying his face snugly in the crook of her neck. Her skin is so warm, and his fingers scrabble at her t-shirt, trying to find a firm grip to keep her close. 

Charlie seems to melt into his arms, running long and damp fingers through the back of his hair with her other palm splayed across the very center of his back. For a brief moment, the urge to weep washes over him, but the urge is gone as quickly as it had come. 

When he pulls away from her, his hands lingering at her sides, the first thing out of his mouth is a whispered apology that she shrugs off. The very sight of her face looking up at him fills him with a shaky sense of hope, that perhaps there _could_ be a future for him, for her, for _them_. 

“How’s your face feeling?” she asks him, touching his cheekbones lightly with the pads of her thumbs. 

“Fine.” It’s the truth. 

She lowers her hands from his face, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Are you all right?”

“I’m feeling better now,” he says with a sigh. 

Charlie smiles shyly. She cradles the side of his face again and his eyes flutter closed, his stomach flipping when she kisses his cheek before promptly sending him back to Marlene.

* * *

Rocket Town is still suffering from the damage wrought by the rocket launch, though temporary fixes like tarps and boarded up windows, such as Shera’s done to his own house. 

It’s quiet when he walks through the door, his bag slung over his shoulders, weighing heavy on his exhausted body. The place is clean, and there isn’t glass all over the floor anymore and the living room is damn spotless after all those fucking morons had stayed here and made a mess. 

“ _Shera!_ ” he calls out into the seemingly empty house, receiving nothing in return. 

The silence unnerves him. He checks her bedroom, which is clean, but still obviously being lived in. That puts his mind at ease, and he continues out into the backyard, where he glances up to see his rocket out of habit, completely forgetting that it’s gone. 

Shera isn’t outside, either. 

He lights up a cigarette and stares at the empty air where the Shinra No. 26 once stood tall and pretty. The scaffolding has all but been demolished, whatever parts could be salvaged have been used to repair buildings in the area, and finally, Rocket Town is devoid of the one attraction they had going for them. 

Not that he gives a shit. He hates tourists, especially tourists who come here to gawk over his failure. At least he won’t have to deal with that anymore. Not only is there no rocket to gawk at, but he had gone into outer space on that rocket, so it can’t really be considered a failure. 

He wonders what Charlie is doing now, and if she’s made it safely to Kalm. It doesn’t hurt to think about her like it used to. He knows that, wherever she is, she’s with that boyfriend of hers, and Cid knows that she’ll be happy with him. 

When he finishes his cigarette, he stomps it out into the hard ground and makes his way back inside, hoping to shower and unpack and get something to eat. 

There’s noise coming from the kitchen when he closes the back door, and he rushes on to see if it’s Shera, knowing damn well it isn’t going to be anyone but her. No one else would come to his house and just fucking walk right in. 

Her face is hidden behind some brown paper shopping bags, and she kicks the front door shut with her foot. 

“Hey, Shera—”

She yelps, dropping the bags on the ground so all the goddamn food spills out of it. Cans roll over the floor, and the glass jar of milk shatters, leaving a puddle of it at her feet. Wide-eyed, Shera’s chest heaves as she stares at him, oblivious to the mess on the ground. 

“Shit, sorry, let me help you with that,” Cid mumbles, kneeling down to try and save the rest of her groceries. “Didn’t mean to scare you, kid.”

Shera looks down at him, arms still held out awkwardly despite there being nothing in them anymore. “Captain, what are you doing here?”

He gets back to his feet, frowning at her before turning away to put all the food on the counter. The words catch in his throat. He’s afraid they might sound stupid coming from him. “I just . . . wanted to come home for a few days. Before, y’know . . . we take on Sephiroth. Everyone’s goin’ home again just to be with everyone, and . . . well, you and I . . . Rocket Town’s all we got.”

“Sephiroth? What are you _talking_ about?” Shera asks again, and Cid forgets that she knows fuck all about what he’s been doing with those dipshits half a world away. “Is this it, then? Is this the end?”

“What? No!” he shouts, scoffing. “It ain’t the end! What’re you givin’ up so easy for?” And then, feeling that it may have sounded a bit harsh, he rubs the back of his neck and sighs, adding, “Maybe we got a lot to talk about, Shera.”

She still looks bewildered, but not entirely displeased. That’s a start, at least. “Okay.”

“You could act a little happier to see me, y’know.”

“Oh, but I am!” Shera blushes, finally moving towards him to wrap her arms around his neck. He isn’t sure if the gesture is genuine, but she squeezes tight like she means it. “I’m so sorry, Captain, it’s just—I wasn’t expecting to see you, is all.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cid pats her back awkwardly and she releases him after a few moments. “But you gotta promise me somethin’.”

“Anything.”

“Might be my last few days,” he tells her very seriously. “So you gotta call me by my name, got it?”

“Of course.”

“Promise me,” he says, raising his eyebrows. 

Shera blushes harder, blinking up at him with those wide fucking eyes. “I promise,” she says, adding quickly, “Cid.”

* * *

Both Charlie and Elmyra are upstairs when they hear knocking at the front door. 

She’s reading in Reeve’s bed, but immediately gets to her feet at the noise, poking her head out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Looking down towards Elmyra’s room, they meet eyes, and Charlie retreats back into the bedroom only to get her gun from the nightstand before making her way downstairs. 

Reeve wouldn’t knock, and he hadn’t warned them to expect any visitors. There’s no one in Kalm that she knows, anyway, who might come knocking.

Elmyra follows her down the stairs, creeping slowly towards the front door. “Stay behind me,” Charlie urges her, holding her left arm out to stop Elmyra from coming any closer, walking up to the door to look through the peephole. “Oh, Gods!”

Without offering Elmyra any further explanation, Charlie puts her gun down on a table to her right that holds a vase of pink flowers. She unlocks the doors and nearly whips it open to find four visitors standing without, eagerly awaiting entry. 

Barret is the first to enter the house, looking around wildly for a sign of his daughter. “Where’s Marlene? Where’s my little girl?” He calls for her, but Charlie shakes her head as Cloud, Tifa, and Cait Sith follow him inside. 

“She’s out with Reeve right now. They should be back soon,” Elmyra says, closing the door behind them all. “But what are you all doing here?”

“You mean she ain’t even here?” Barret turns hastily towards Cait Sith, looking mutinous. “What’re you playin’ at, you damn cat? Where the hell is my daughter—”

“Barret, she’s fine!” Charlie interrupts, grabbing Cait Sith right off the ground before Barret can get to him and taking a few steps backwards. She cradles the cat like a child, suddenly very defensive. “She’s perfectly safe with Reeve, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Barret doesn’t give her an answer, instead grunting his disapproval, putting a hand on his hip, and turning away to look into the living room. 

“Where are the others?” Charlie asks them all, setting Cait Sith down to hug Tifa and give Cloud an affectionate pat on the arm. “Is everything all right?”

“You didn’t tell them we were coming?” Cloud lifts an eyebrow at Cait Sith, folding his arms over his chest. 

“If you were expectin’ us,” Barret cuts in again, speaking to Charlie and gesturing towards the table by the front door, “then you probably wouldn’t have brought a gun with her to answer the door.”

“Thought it’d be nice to surprise Marlene,” Cait Sith replies quickly, brushing himself off. “It all happened so fast.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Elmyra clears her throat, touching Charlie’s shoulder with a gentle hand. “Why don’t we have some tea while we wait?” 

Thankfully, Tifa is more than happy with the suggestion, eager to visit with Marlene again. Elmyra leads them all into the kitchen, launching into conversation about Marlene about her tutor and how much she’s learned, about what she’s been doing, about how her behavior has been. 

For the most part, the girl has been an angel, or so Reeve would have Charlie believe, but he hasn’t been here all the time, so he’s missed out on things that Elmyra has been here for. 

Sometimes she cries at night for her father, unable to be consoled until she’s a sweating and runny-nosed mess, Elmyra says. 

Sometimes she misses her home, Seventh Heaven, but she doesn’t dislike this house, Elmyra says. 

Sometimes she asks when they’ll be able to go back home, or when Barret will be back, or when this will all be over, and Elmyra claims she never has an answer for her. 

Barret confesses to his regrets, apologizes for not being able to be here for Marlene, and he is grateful that Elmyra has been generous enough to care for her in his stead. 

But he does not thank Reeve, or acknowledge the things he’s done for both Elmyra and Marlene. Charlie almost says something, eager to jump to Reeve’s defense, but Cait Sith shakes his head as if knowing what she’s going to do. It’s very possible that Barret might just want to say those things to Reeve’s face. 

Charlie is just glad they’re able to have this time alone together before the end, if only for a little while. 

* * *

“You’re not _listening_.”

No, he’s not. He has no idea what Marlene has just said to him, only registers the fact that she’s tugging at his sleeve like she’s wont to do. 

He’s far too distracted by the fact that Barret, Cloud, and Tifa are sitting in the kitchen with Charlie and Elmyra and Cait. He’s far too distracted by the fact that, very shortly, he will be forced to stand in front of three people he has personally wronged, under their severe scrutiny and subjected to their criticism. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she asks, reaching up for his hand and curling little fingers around his own as he tries to take his time walking back to the car. “Can we get ice cream?”

“Marlene, it’s eleven o’clock in the morning. We only came here to get some things for Charlie.”

“Not even candy for later?”

“No.”

She pouts, sticking her bottom lip out and looking in the windows of the shops they pass. Many of them have been closed indefinitely in the face of Meteor, but there are still some of them open to anyone with gil or things to barter with.

“What about . . .” Marlene hums to herself, suddenly gasping. It makes him panic, his hairline dampening as he imagines the worst, looking up at the sky and all around him.

“Don’t do that!” he scolds her exasperatedly. 

She releases his hand to run up to a shop window, pressing herself flat against the glass. “Look, Reeve! Fireworks!”

“No, no, no,” he says, wanting to nip that idea in the bud before he regrets it later. “Let’s go, Marlene.”

“Oh, _please!_ I’ve never seen fireworks before!” Marlene begs, turning around to face him and clasping her hands together. “Please, please, please—I’ll never ask for anything ever again—”

“Not today. Please, Marlene, let’s get going—”

“But we could all do them tonight, couldn’t we? You and me and Elmyra and Charlie?” She points to some cheap-looking fireworks in every color of the rainbow. “And it would be _so_ romantic—”

Reeve blushes, sputtering awkwardly. “What do you know about romance?”

“Don’t you think Charlie would like them?”

He narrows his eyes at her. He knows exactly what she’s doing, and he’s angry with himself for falling for it. “Damn,” he sighs, conceding defeat. “All right, but just a few. And let’s make it our secret until tonight, yes?”

* * *

“Charlie,” Cait Sith whispers to her as Barret and Elmyra continue to talk about Marlene, now going on twenty minutes, “do the poor lad a favor and go outside quick, would you?”

She opens her mouth to answer, glancing towards the front door, but closes her mouth before she speaks, smiling and nodding slightly at him.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmurs to Tifa, who nods at her before turning back towards the others.

When she starts down the walkway towards the car, Marlene nearly bowls her over, sprinting towards the house with a plastic shopping bag dangling from her hand. “Hi, Charlie!” 

“What do you have th—”

“Nothing!”

Charlie raises her eyebrows and opens the door wide again to allow the girl entry, closing it again as she hears Barret shout Marlene’s name again. 

“Are you spoiling that girl?” she asks Reeve with a smile, who closes the trunk after emptying the other bags from within. 

He scoffs loudly, far too loudly. It gives him away immediately. “ _No_ ,” he protests, but it only makes her laugh. 

“Let me help you with that—”

“I can’t.”

“What?” She bends down to pick up one of the bags filled with clothes. “Here, I don’t mind—”

“Charlie, I can’t go in there.”

She hesitates, straightening back up and looking at him. He’s agitated, shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to the other, his eyes darting from her face to the front door to his feet to the windows to her face again. 

“Of course you can. It’s going to be fine.” When he casts her a doubtful and helpless look, she adds, “You can’t stay out here forever. And besides, they already know you.”

“No, they don’t. They know Cait Sith, and that isn’t me.”

Charlie rubs his arm, sympathetic. “Well, he’s a little bit you.”

“How can I look at Barret after what I’ve done?”

“Who cares what Barret thinks? You have three people here who won’t let him treat you poorly, and if he _were_ to treat someone poorly, don’t you think it would be me? A Shinra? I’m literally his sworn enemy, but he just sat around the table with us and spoke to me like a friend.”

“ _You_ didn’t kidnap his young daughter,” Reeve murmurs, lowering his eyes.

“Neither did you. And I’ve only known Marlene for a very short time, but I don’t think she’s very upset with you for bringing her here.” 

“Well, it’s been known to happen, in rare cases, victims can develop—”

“No,” Charlie says, shaking her head, a small smile still on her face. “I really think you’re overthinking things.”

Reeve sighs shortly, stiffening and brushing his shirt off. “How do I look?”

“You look great.”

“You’re just saying that. Do you think I should have worn a tie?”

Charlie purses her lips and cocks an eyebrow, stifling the laughter that bubbles up inside her for his sake. She takes hold of his hands, lowering them back to his sides to keep him from fidgeting with his clothes. “You’re not getting married, Reeve, you’re just meeting people who are _already_ your friends, who _already_ like you.”

“Sorry, I’m just very nervous.”

“I know, but you’re going to be fine. I’m here.” She feels for him, truly. She knows what it feels like to be an outsider within that particular group of friends. “Come on, let’s go.”

They both grab hold of the bags, but Charlie leads the way. He slows his pace, taking his sweet time. “Do you think I should make a joke? To lighten the mood?” he asks. 

“I think you should just leave the jokes to me,” she tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder as he approaches the front door. “You know, I think just acting normal is the best approach here.”

Reeve protests quietly even as she opens the front door again, catching the attention of both Barret and Marlene, who have moved to the foyer with intentions, it seems, to relocate to the living room. The others trail behind him and everyone goes quiet. 

“What took you so long, Reeve?” Marlene asks with the theatrics of a five-year-old girl, hanging from Barret’s forearm with her feet a few inches off the ground, looking positively delighted. 

“Marlene, don’t you have some things to put away?” Charlie asks her pointedly, looking at the mystery bag at the foot of the stairs that Marlene had refused to tell her again. 

“Oh, yeah!” Dropping back to the ground and landing gracefully, Marlene dashes away, carrying the bag upstairs. 

When Reeve fails to introduce himself, averting his eyes instead and rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish way, Charlie wraps her fingers around his bicep and smiles at their friends. Cait Sith lightly pads his way over, his tail brushing against her calves as he winds his way around Reeve’s leg. 

“Everyone, this is Reeve Tuesti,” she says, smiling brilliantly to make it seem as if she hasn’t a care in the world. Looking anxious would only serve to make the situation worse. “Reeve, you know everyone already.”

Elmyra smooths down the front of her dress, fixing her eyes upon Barret. 

Tifa is the one to break the silence, after Cloud seems to revel in it and Barret can’t find words to say. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Reeve pauses, looking around. “Likewise.”

“Why don’t we move into the living room?” Elmyra suggests, urging Cloud, Barret, and Tifa to make for the next room over. “We can give them a moment to put their shopping away.”

Reeve seems to seize on the moment, nearly running up the stairs with the shopping bags. Charlie follows behind him, setting the bags on the bed. When she turns back around to face him, he runs both hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it. 

“Tell me everything is going to be all right,” he pleads quietly. 

“Everything is going to be all right.” 

His relief is palpable, and he lowers his hands from his head. “Okay,” he breathes, smiling crookedly at her. “Okay. I just . . . needed to hear you say that.”

Charlie smiles sweetly, taking his hand in her own and pulling him gently towards the door, glad that he isn’t resisting. In fact, he seems a little more confident, a little more himself when they enter the living room.

Barret takes up nearly the entire couch, but there’s still enough room for Tifa and Cloud to sit on either side of him. Elmyra sits in the most comfortable armchair (according to her, anyway), and Reeve insists Charlie sit in the last remaining chair, where Cait Sith clambers into her lap like an attention-seeking child. 

“Nice place you got here, man,” Barret says to Reeve. 

Reeve clears his throat. “Thank you. It was the only one available on such short notice. And besides, it’s not really my place, it’s Elmyra’s—”

Barret glances left and right, at Cloud and Tifa respectively. “Just take the compliment, would you?” he interrupts, not unkind about it.

“Daddy! Tifa!” Marlene calls from the top of the stairs, waving a sheet of paper in her hand, already hurrying back down. “Look at this! Look what Reeve drew for me!”

She leaps into Barret’s lap, holding up the piece of paper in her father’s face. Reeve blushes. 

“It’s gonna be the new bar when we move back to Midgar,” she explains happily, and now that she says something, Charlie can make sense of the many lines that she sees through the underside of the paper. “Look, this is my room. It’s bigger than the other rooms. And look here—” Marlene points at something—“people can eat downstairs _and_ upstairs.”

Tifa looks thoughtful for a moment, but no one decides to intrude upon the girl’s excitable fantasy, not wanting to shatter the illusion. It’ll be a miracle if they ever make it back to Midgar to settle down again. “It’s very nice,” she decides to say, smiling shyly at Reeve before looking back at the plans. “Where am I going to sleep, Marlene? Hopefully not in this tiny little room right here?”

“That’s a _bathroom,_ ” Marlene says, clicking her tongue. “Your room is here, next to mine, and Daddy’s room is here, on the other side.”

“What do you need such a big room for?” Barret asks, laughing gruffly to himself. 

Charlie watches them laugh and tease each other, distractedly dragging her fingers through the white patch of fur on Cait Sith’s chest. Marlene shows her father that she can write her own name now, proudly detailing her experiences with the tutor that she and Reeve had picked out together, and showing him pieces of schoolwork and crayon drawings that she’s done. 

She looks up at Reeve, smiling. He’s certainly more at ease, hovering over her shoulder at the back of the chair. 

Cloud and Tifa linger only for a little while, meaning to return to the now-empty _Highwind_ now that everyone has gone home for a few days before their journey to the Northern Crater. 

Hoping to allow Barret as much alone time with Marlene as possible, Reeve and Charlie offer to drive them back, and their offer is accepted with sincere thanks from both Cloud and Tifa. Marlene is more than thrilled to keep an eye on Cait Sith, who Reeve promises will keep to himself. 

It’s an awkward drive, though they haven’t landed the airship too far away. They had taken chocobos into the town, Tifa explains, though it had taken them a long time to catch them. It was almost not worth the effort, but in the end, three chocobos had wandered right into their paths and eaten the last greens in their possession, allowing themselves to be mounted and ridden. 

The car is much faster, and a much nicer ride, than a chocobo, Cloud tells them, seated in the back with Tifa. 

“Sure you don’t want to come with us?” Cloud asks them both. 

Charlie and Reeve exchange a sideways look that probably doesn’t go unnoticed. She already knows what he wants to say, but she’s prepared to say it for the both of them. “Well, we aren’t fighters, and there’s not much we could probably do to help,” she tells them apologetically, twisting in her seat to face them. “But there are things we can do _here_ to help, so I think . . . we’re going to stay.”

Reeve doesn’t speak up to contradict her, but also adds, “I’ll send Cait Sith back with you, when Barret leaves.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Cloud says. 

Their good-byes are awkward. They all must realize that optimism at this point is close to foolishness. No one is willing to commit to saying a proper good-bye, however, and they all promise half-heartedly to meet here again in a few days. 

Tifa hugs her, and Cloud and Reeve shake hands. It occurs to her that Cloud and Tifa are hardly more than children, shouldering the weight of the world with admirable courage. 

And on the ride back, Charlie can’t help but wonder if she should have said something more, if she should have thanked them for their generosity, if she should have apologized to them for not being able to do more. 

Perhaps Reeve senses her anxiety, because he smiles at her as he drives back towards Kalm. “You know, Marlene had a great idea earlier. She thought it might be fun to do something together tonight, all of us.”

“Does it, by chance, have anything to do with what was in her bag this morning?”

“You’re just as smart now as you ever were, aren’t you?”

Charlie smiles sheepishly. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise, but Marlene was certain you’d like it.”

She doesn’t press him for details, not wanting to spoil the surprise. She doesn’t want to disappoint Marlene, not while her father is there with her. “I think it’s really sweet, what you’ve done for them,” she tells him. 

“I didn’t do it for praise.”

“Why did you, then?”

He looks away from the road, only for a moment, to gauge her expression. It’s only an innocent question, borne from a sincere curiosity. Charlie knows that Reeve is kind and soft-hearted and, ultimately, very sympathetic towards the undercity’s residents, but that can’t be the only reason he’s bent over backwards for them. 

“I don’t know. It was the right thing to do, and . . .” He sighs, thinking for a minute. “I kept coming back because I didn’t have any friends or allies in the city. I was surrounded by people who resented me in Midgar, but here, I was wanted. It seems ridiculous now, though.”

Charlie lets her eyes trace his profile. “How so?”

“I was lonely, Charlie,” he states, turning to face her again as they approach town. “I should never have indulged myself. Barret likely doesn’t want me with three-hundred feet of his daughter, and Aerith . . .”

He falls silent at the mention of Aerith. Charlie feels a lump form in her throat at the sound of her name. It’s not that she’s forgotten the death of her friend, it’s just that so much has happened since then that the pain had been compartmentalized and pushed to the back of her mind. 

She wonders how Reeve feels about it, but is unsure how to bring it up. Perhaps she’ll save that question for if they survive Meteor. 

But she is sure about one thing. “I think Aerith would have been very grateful to know you’ve been keeping her mother safe.”

Reeve sighs very heavily. Charlie, not wanting to keep talking about Aerith in the hopes of keeping conversation light, half-afraid that it will ruin the rest of their night, slips her hand into his own, twining their fingers together. 

Even if they’ll never be truly part of Avalanche’s little tight-knit family they’ve created, at least they still have each other. 


	70. Chapter 70

The moment he walks through the door with Charlie, Marlene is nearly on top of him, tugging at his sleeve to bring his face closer to her own. 

She whispers right into his ear, little hands cupped around her mouth. “Can we do the fireworks now?”

“Yes, go get them.” Reeve stands back up and gives Charlie an exasperated little smile. “Why don’t you go move everyone to the back yard and get comfortable?”

Charlie doesn’t leave him right away, biting down on her lower lip to stifle the small smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. “What is it? What are we doing?” she asks quietly, and he almost feels compelled to tell her, simply because she had gone so long without needling him about it. 

“Be patient,” he says instead, finding joy in the way the corners of her lips turn downwards into a pout and her eyebrows knit together, the bridge of her nose wrinkled. 

It’s cute, frankly. It’s a sign that she’s still herself, and whether it’s all an act for his sake or not, she plays the part very convincingly. 

“I know patience has never been one of your virtues,” he muses, wondering if she’ll ever bother to play along, but it comes so naturally to her that he’s half-convinced she’s genuinely flirting with him. 

“I don’t like to be kept waiting by a man,” Charlie tells him, raising an eyebrow and clicking her tongue. There’s a sort of arrogance about her, like she’s keenly aware of how beautiful she is. “Is this how you would treat your vice president?”

His neck and ears go hot. The situation suddenly seems very intimate, with her stark reminder of the title she still holds—though truthfully, Reeve isn’t entirely certain how much the Shinra name is worth right now. 

He looks her up and down quickly, even though it’s in full view of her own gaze. She doesn’t even blush, though she fidgets distractedly with the end of her t-shirt, probably very uncomfortable allowing herself to be seen so . . . vulnerable. 

Once his eyes settle on her face again, she smiles. “Aren’t you going to flirt back with me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says quickly, feeling very much as if she’s accusing him of something, which she is—she’s accusing him of flirting with her, and that hadn’t exactly been his intention, at first.

For a split second, he sees disappointment flash across her face, but she rearranges her features to hide it. It’s like watching Charlie rebuild her walls in real time, shattering whatever progress he’d been making. “Sorry. I’ll see you outside, all right?” she says, still smiling at him as she turns around to join Barret, Elmyra, and Cait Sith in the kitchen. 

_Damn,_ he thinks to himself, watching her disappear behind the kitchen wall, but still able to hear her voice floating through the downstairs of the house. _Maybe she isn’t pretending at all._

Marlene has hidden the bag underneath her bed, and when he checks to make sure she’s all right, all he can see are her little legs sticking out. Wriggling against the hard ground, she worms her way back out and stands up, giving him the bag to hold. 

“You know, Charlie was talking about you this morning,” she teases, sticking her tongue out. 

Curiosity makes Reeve hesitate in the doorway, but he remembers what Charlie had said to Marlene earlier today when the girl threatened to expose his own guilty secrets. “Don’t,” he forces himself to say, if only to extend the same amount of respect towards Charlie and _her_ secrets. “I don’t want to know.”

“Why not? She only said you were cute, and she likes your beard.” 

“Really?” One of his hands jump to his face, combing the dark hair on his chin with his fingertips while the bag of fireworks sits cradled in his other arm. “She said that? In response to what? What did you ask her?”

“I caught her looking at your butt.”

The casual way Marlene delivers this remark is enough to make him blush. 

Why is it so surprising to him that Charlie might find him attractive? After all, she’s made that point explicitly clear to him in the past, but perhaps seeing the way she watched Cid Highwind at times was disheartening, and casted doubt upon him whenever he thought back to any particularly decent memories. 

When he and Marlene exit the house through the back door a few minutes later, Charlie has spread a blanket on the grass, just like Cait Sith had told her to do. She and the cat sit together, with a little distance between her and Barret and the others, and her face brightens considerably when she catches sight of the fireworks peeking over the top of the bag. 

Seeing her and Cait Sith together, watching him carefully as he moves to the center of the backyard, makes his chest swell. Why hadn’t he told her about him years ago? Why had he allowed himself to be robbed of so many opportunities and potentially good memories? Why had he allowed himself to be robbed of her pride, of her compliments? 

Wouldn’t she have been thrilled to see something he built? Hasn’t she always been supportive and thrilled in regards to everything made by his hands?

Marlene abandons his side to sit with her father, but Reeve doesn’t mind. She’s delighted, never having seen fireworks before, and he supposes that sharing this moment with her own father is something he would rather encourage. 

They’re nothing special, really. Midgar often did fireworks displays on holidays and special occasions, and Charlie liked to watch from the balcony of their apartment, which gave them a very sweet view of the show. Those had been the big display fireworks, though, that lit up the night sky in every color of the rainbow. 

The last time Midgar had done a fireworks display, he had been forced to work through it.

No, that’s not right. He hadn’t been forced to do anything. Charlie had begged him to come home and watch the fireworks with her, but there was so much to be done that couldn’t be put off any longer. And when he _had_ come home that night, she had been in bed, unreceptive to his touches and disappointed. 

These fireworks that Marlene had picked out are small, but certainly just as noisy and entertaining enough for a five-year-old. She hangs off her father’s neck, covering her ears as Reeve continues to light two or three at a time, quickly stepping away before they go off, cracking and popping and spitting golden sparks a few feet into the air. 

She points out her favorite ones, and both Charlie and Elmyra coo over them with Barret. Sometimes Marlene shouts at him to do three at a time, or all blue ones, or just the ones that spin on the ground and whistle. Reeve obliges her each and every time, half-afraid that, if he doesn’t, Barret will have something to say about it. 

Yet he doesn’t have too much time to spare looking at Marlene for his next direction, too distracted with Charlotte’s reaction to the fireworks. In between the lighting of the fireworks, Reeve glances over towards Charlie, softening significantly at the sight of her. 

For a moment, he can’t help but wonder how she could possibly smile with everything going on, with Meteor days away from reaching the planet’s surface and destroying millions of lives. It’s a real smile too, her perfect teeth bared, laughing as Marlene points to one that sends colored smoke up into the air. Cait Sith is curled up at her side, just like he was wont to do so many times on the road. 

It’s then that Reeve beckons Cait Sith over to finish his work, making for Charlie’s side. That cat wastes no time in jumping to his feet, trading places with him. She seems happy enough when he sits down beside her, extending his long legs in front of him and leaning back on his hands in the grass. 

“All right,” Charlie tells him, closer than he remembers her being, but he isn’t certain whether or not his imagination is just playing tricks on him, “fireworks were a nice surprise.”

“Don’t you feel foolish now for wanting to be spoiled?” he teases. 

“I still could have acted surprised.” She sidles up to him, and it occurs to him that, even here, in the house that he has been paying for and with the people he has been offering protection, they both are still outsiders. 

“Look at ‘em,” Barret says suddenly, as if there are more people here to listen in. His head is turned towards himself and Charlie, but there’s a small smile on his face. “Even here, the two of you are off whisperin’ to each other.”

Everyone laughs, but he thinks the only person whose laughter is truly genuine is Marlene. And then Charlie turns back to face him with a brilliant smile on her face, and Reeve falters.

Very vividly, he recalls a memory of her that holds little meaning to him in truth. It is a warm breeze and a setting sun, Charlie in a white sundress and her hair a tangled and wavy mess from the ocean water, barefoot on the deck of the villa in Costa del Sol, smiling at him with her back to the beach, laughing when the wind blew her hair into her face. 

She had been twenty, then, and he had already been in love with her for a long time. 

The smile on her face now is the same it had been then. This is the same girl from that day at the villa, just happy to be with him. 

This time, however, she seems expectant. Twenty-year-old-Charlotte had known better than to expect anything bold from him, at the time. Twenty-year-old-Charlotte had known better than to expect anything more than a few minutes of holding her hand or letting her wrap a hand around his arm when they walked. 

The fireworks make her face glow—blue, pink, orange, gold, temporarily coloring her hair and giving life to her pale face. Cait Sith continues to light the fireworks, but neither of them are paying attention. The fireworks don’t mean half as much to them as they do to Marlene, but maybe the girl had a point . . . maybe fireworks are romantic, in a sense (not that he’s trying to romance her, because that wasn’t his intention upon bringing her here, and she hurt him, but)—

Making his split-second decision, Reeve moves forward, watching Charlie’s eyes flutter closed like she expected this, but before he can kiss her, Marlene interrupts them. 

“That can’t be all of them!”

He sighs irritably against her lips, pulling back when Barret and Elmyra look his way, as if hoping for an answer. Charlie, with her back to the others, smiles shyly at him, her eyes open again. 

“We didn’t buy that many, Marlene,” Reeve reminds her, getting to his feet and brushing himself off before extending a hand to Charlie, pulling her up. If anyone had borne witness to what he was about to do to Charlotte, they say nothing.

“It’s past your bedtime, anyway, angel,” Barret tells Marlene, patting her head before getting heavily to his feet. “Go say thank-you and good-night.”

Marlene doesn’t look happy about it at all, but she says good-night to Elmyra first, giggling when Cait Sith does a cartwheel at her command. When she walks slowly over to Charlie and himself (prolonging the time until bed, he’s certain, as she’s been known to do that lately), Marlene wraps herself around one of Reeve’s legs. 

“Marlene—” he hisses, not wanting to push a little girl off, but acutely aware of Barret’s pointed gaze, as if itching for a fight. “Please—”

“Can we buy more fireworks tomorrow?” she asks, looking up at him in the yellow light that spills from the back porch. “ _Please,_ please, please, please—”

Reeve casts an exasperated glance at Charlie, who’s giggling softly to herself behind her fingers, obviously not about to offer him any help. “I have things I have to do tomorrow,” he says apologetically, prying Marlene’s fingers off his thigh. That’s a good enough explanation. No one here needs to know that he and Charlie will be visiting with her brother, the president of Shinra. “I probably won’t be here until after you’re in bed.”

“Well, Charlie will take me, won’t she?” Marlene asks again, looking over her shoulder at Charlie, who has an eyebrow raised. “I can show her where we went.”

“Charlie’s going to be with me tomorrow, Marlene. Now, I think it’s time for bed. Don’t keep your father waiting.”

She sighs very dramatically, as if his request is unreasonable, but she complies. Disentangling herself from his leg, Marlene bids a quiet and sad good-night to Charlie, who ruffles her hair and sends her back to Barret. 

Before the two of them make it inside, Reeve can’t help but notice that Barret’s features are not quite so sharp and angry, and there’s something sad about him.

Elmyra goes to follow, but before she re-enters the house, she places a hand on Reeve’s shoulder, smiling weakly at him. She says nothing, but Reeve understands, finally able to have a second alone with Charlie—save for Cait Sith, who doesn’t really count, as he’s content to linger and pretend he can’t hear everything that’s being said. 

Charlotte holds her hands behind her back, swaying from side-to-side and looking a little too innocently at him. “That was fun tonight,” she says, and Reeve feels the pressure suddenly ease off his shoulders. “And Marlene enjoyed it. Do you want help cleaning up?”

“No, I think I’ve got it, thank you.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, but hesitates and closes it at the last minute, shaking her head. 

“Wait,” he says, grabbing hold of her hand as she turns away from him. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I have planned for us tomorrow?”

“Will I like it?”

“I think so, yes.”

Charlie shrugs, pulling her hand from his and taking a step backwards. “Then I trust you.”

“I thought you didn’t like being kept waiting,” he tells her with raised eyebrows, anything to keep her talking to him. 

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Reeve,” she scoffs, half-serious and half-teasing, “I think I could make an exception for _you_.”

* * *

“Gods, did you buy the entire store?”

“I thought you might like a selection.”

“Where am I going to put all of these?”

“In the closet.”

The clothes are cheap, but she isn’t complaining. It’s not like many stores are still open with the end of the world creeping closer. On their way back from the _Highwind_ , she had noticed the windows all boarded up on the main street cutting through the plaza, the CLOSED signs across the shop doors. 

“What is this?” she asks with a small smile, pulling a light blue cotton dress out of a bag, turning around to hold it up to him. “A bit different from the rest of the clothes you bought, don’t you think?”

Reeve blushes furiously, having been watching her from his desk chair, spinning back around to face the wide monitor he’s using. “I just thought it looked nice, that’s all.”

Charlie faces the mirror on the wall, holding the dress up to her. It _would_ look nice on her. “Do you want me to wear it?” she asks again, watching the back of his head in the reflection. 

“If _you_ want to wear it,” he murmurs, typing furiously, the keyboard clack-clack-clacking. 

Charlie puts the dress on the bed, moving towards him to peer down at the screen. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get into the Shinra servers, but I have a feeling they’re still down. I wonder if anyone has returned to work, or even attempted to reboot the systems. I can’t access the mainframe from here.”

“You must be the only person in the world still concerned about _work_ right now.” She drapes her arms over the back of his chair and his shoulders, resting her chin atop his head. _Like normal,_ she reminds herself, and is further encouraged when he doesn’t even flinch at this contact. “Besides, I thought you were retired now.”

“I’ve resigned, not retired,” Reeve reminds her. “And with the other directors dead—or, presumed dead, in Palmer’s case—I can’t think of anyone else who might try.”

“Tseng might.”

He hums in agreement, leaning forward to turn off the computer. Charlie pulls away from him, hanging the dress on the closet door for tomorrow. “I suppose I can leave it for tomorrow.” When he turns around in his chair, a soft little breath escapes him. “You’re actually going to wear it?”

She frowns, looking it up and down. “Why not?”

Reeve shrugs, slouched in the office chair, propping his head up with an elbow on the hard plastic arm. 

Charlie smiles, narrowing her eyes at him. “What are you thinking right now?”

He shakes his head, smiling weakly. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I’ve got time. I’ve got _literally_ all the time in the world right now.”

“It’s not enough.” He sits up a little straighter, still watching her as she enters the closet, just big enough for her to change in, a narrow thing that’s nearly five times smaller than the closet in their apartment. “It’s not enough time.”

“Do you have so much to say to me that it would take more than a few days?” she teases him, in a weak attempt at lightening the mood, pulling her t-shirt over her head and throwing it into the nearest hamper. 

“It’s not so much what I have to say,” he replies, completely out of sight. “It’s all of the things that I ever wanted to do with you.”

“The fireworks have made you sentimental, have they?”

“Charlie, I’m serious.” She hears the creaking of the chair as he gets to his feet. She’s only wearing a new t-shirt and underwear when he appears in the entrance to the closet, leaning against the frame. “Doesn’t it upset you that we’ll never get a chance at that life?”

She hesitates, pulling her shorts on slowly. “What life?”

Reeve blushes handsomely, lowering his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says, but Charlie knows he isn’t being truthful. He knows damn well what he wants to say. “I think I would have wanted kids. A family.”

It’s her turn to flush. She turns away to hide her embarrassment, but can feel it creeping up her entire body, from her toes to her forehead. “Not with me,” she mutters sheepishly. 

When he doesn’t answer, Charlie turns back around to find him looking at her exasperatedly. “Yes, with you,” he tells her, completely bewildered. “Who else but you?”

“Anyone,” she breathes, humiliated. “Anyone else. You really would have wanted a child with me? You would have wanted our son to turn out like Rufus?”

“Rufus is the way he is because of a lack of love and nurturing in his adolescence.”

“And me?” Charlie asks softly, tears pricking at her eyes. She’s not stupid. She knows why Rufus is the way he is, and hearing it spoken aloud like that is a painful reminder that she was never enough for her brother, despite doing all she could for him. “Am I just a sorry product of my father’s abuse and neglect, as well?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.” She wonders if she dares ask the question she’s been too afraid to ask for years. Why shouldn’t she ask? It’s the end of the world. It might not even matter in a few days. But she decides against it at the last minute, not wanting to hear him explain that he pitied the young daughter of President Shinra. 

“You grew to be kind and compassionate, despite the circumstances of your childhood,” he tells her. “I wouldn’t say that’s such a sorry thing at all.”

“Kind and compassionate,” she repeats with venom, but her anger is not directed towards Reeve. It’s directed towards herself, a burning resentment that she could never be what everyone expected of her. “My father has made me weak.”

“Weak?” Reeve laughs, and Charlie feels his laughter stab at her heart. “Charlie, you are anything but. You were the only one brave enough to walk away from the company and its many injustices, even knowing that your life would potentially be forfeit.” 

“I had nowhere else to go,” she confesses, shaking her head. “The people and the company’s people didn’t want me in Midgar. I’m a traitor to both Shinra and the people.” And then something suddenly occurs to her that terrifies her. She hasn’t given much thought about the future, convinced that Meteor will strike them all dead, but now that she thinks about it . . . “What am I supposed to do if we live?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where do I fit in in a world after Shinra?” Charlie asks, wrapping her arms around herself. “Everywhere I’ve been, everywhere that I go, I’m an outsider. No one wants a Shinra around, and they won’t care whether I live or die if we survive Meteor. My father’s company has failed them, and they won’t care what I’ve done or where I’ve been . . . they’ll see me as nothing but a reminder of the devastation my father and his company caused . . .”

Reeve smiles at her, taking a few steps closer until he’s closer enough that he can reach out and touch her upper arms, squeezing gently. “You don’t really think I would leave you to fend for your own in a world after Shinra, do you?”

“I wouldn’t deserve it,” she answers, looking up into his face and so grateful that she could cry. She doesn’t realize until he swipes a thumb across her cheekbone that she _is_ crying. “I don’t deserve any of your kindness, even if—”

He frowns when she stops abruptly. “Even if what?”

“Even if it’s all just an act.”

As if she’s punched him with these words, Reeve lets out another breath, this one half-scoff and half-laugh. “You think I’m putting on an act?”

“I don’t know,” she answers right away, flustered. “I thought you said you wanted us to be like normal.”

“I just didn’t want to fight with you while Meteor was still a threat, and I didn’t want to frighten Marlene with any arguing,” he explains, and Charlie can’t help but feel foolish as he lowers his hands. “Charlie, you don’t have to pretend you love me for my sake. Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“I’m not pretending. I do love you.” 

She feels sorry about it. She has nothing to give him now, nothing to offer him. She has no power here, no influence, no money accessible to her. 

_No, I still have one thing,_ she thinks, biting down on her lower lip. _Something I’ve never given anyone else but him._

Afraid that he’ll never go through with it, Charlie lays a hand on the side of his face, just to give him a chance to pull away. When he doesn’t, she cradles his face with both of her hands and pushes herself up on her toes to kiss him. 

He responds in kind, hands jumping to her sides, pushing up her t-shirt in order to splay a hand against the small of her back, fingertips digging lightly into her waist. Charlie wraps her arms around his neck, and he only breaks the kiss to place more of them on her cheekbones, where her skin is wet with tears. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, nuzzled against her cheek and pressing messy kisses to her jaw. 

She backs Reeve right out of the small closet, allowing him to sweep her off her feet, even if it is short-lived. He drops her gently onto the bed and she lets out a stifled little laugh, not wanting Marlene or Barret to hear through the shared wall. She spreads her arms out to either side of her, feeling very small with him towering over her, one of his knees propped upon the bed, touching the side of her thigh. 

It must be a dream. Charlie doesn’t think she can rely on herself anymore, because surely this is impossible, surely her brain and imagination have betrayed her. Surely it’s the light that makes his eyes look so warm and his smile so soft and kind. She’s going to blink and he’ll be gone, and everything that he’s just said will all have been imagined by her in some form of desperation. 

Perhaps she’s already dead, but why would Meteor still plague her in the afterlife?

“Taking your sweet time, aren’t you?” she says breathlessly, her heart racing. 

He smiles at her, moving slowly closer to her until he’s resting his forearms on either side of her shoulders. “I just want to look at you for as long as possible,” he says, and his voice assures her that this is all very real, “just in case I don’t get another chance.”

And when Reeve’s lips touch the tip of the scar on her neck a few moments after that, Charlie doesn’t flinch, hardly able to feel anything but the coarse hair on his face rubbing the unblemished skin around the swollen scar. 

It reminds her of the first time, of the clumsy way she had fumbled with him, nervous and excited and afraid to seem inexperienced. The first time had begun because of a desperate ache that refused to be soothed by alcohol or sulking in the dark, and that first time had mostly been borne of Charlie’s desire to feel something that wasn’t heartache or humiliation. 

The first time had been years’ worth of pent up frustrations finally coming to fruition, and the result had been so sweet that it had made Charlie numb to the entire world beyond the walls of her father’s villa. 

So it is now, and she allows herself the temporary respite from the impending apocalypse. Allowing herself this one selfish indulgence provides her with the normalcy she’s been craving, able to close her eyes and easily picture the both of them back in their apartment, in the bedroom with the window overlooking all of Sector Eight and the distant reactor. 

Though Charlie can’t let herself get _too_ lost in whatever fantasy she’s trying to project. With other people in the house, she isn’t in any position to let herself get carried away. The both of them are resigned to soft whispers in between softer sighs, the bed groaning beneath them every so often. 

Sometimes there’s laughter—quiet and hushed, sometimes muffled against each other’s lips or with their faces buried in each other’s necks. He makes her smile like the world isn’t going to end, like they have forever to stay here and make love to each other with the moon peering through the window. 

“Reeve?” she breathes once.

Reeve’s answer is a low hum, lips vibrating against the skin just beneath her ear, and his hair sticks to the back of his neck, damp with sweat when Charlie runs her fingers through it. 

She doesn’t know how to say it. It shouldn’t be this difficult to get the words out, but her throat closes whenever she tries. If she doesn’t tell him now, then she never will. She wants him to know that she would have wanted that life too—a family, children, time away from work to spend with each other. 

Perhaps he already knows. He knows her better than anyone. 

Another painful ache in her heart, a sudden pang that almost makes her cry out. Charlie grabs a fistful of his hair and feels the coiling sensation in her stomach building, a wave of shudders overtaking her body, muscles going limp when he finishes a few moments afterwards. 

And when he kisses her again before they lie back down for sleep a few minutes after that, she can still taste herself on the tip of his tongue. 

She has never felt such a strong sense of belonging before. Or, maybe she has, and just never recognized it for what it was. It’s a feeling that was ever lacking while she was with Avalanche, and it will always be that way so long as she’s a Shinra.

It might be a waste of time, sleeping away the hours while Meteor grows closer, but Charlie thinks if the world ended in her sleep tonight, that would be okay. 

* * *

He’s grateful when Tseng calls very early to let him know that the president will be arriving in Kalm very shortly. 

Truthfully, Reeve feels very uncomfortable here. 

It’s not all the time, of course. But since Barret has come to visit, to spend time with his daughter before potentially running off to his death, Reeve can’t help but feel that he and Charlie are intruding on something very private and intimate. 

The house is still quiet and dark when he makes for the kitchen as the sun is beginning to rise. Charlie had softly and half-heartedly moaned about leaving so early in the morning, but he’s just glad to have a chance to leave here and be with his own people—with Charlie’s people. 

It takes her a little while to get ready, but he had been expecting that, and he only catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye when she enters the kitchen with Cat trailing after her, hair wet from her shower and still barefoot, forcing him to do a double-take from his place by the sink. 

She’s wearing the blue dress he bought for her, and he does nothing to hide the fact that he’s openly staring at her. It’s the perfect size for her, stopping a few inches above her knees. He’s gifted a sight of her lightly freckled shoulders underneath the thin straps and the fabric presses her breasts together, affording him another sweet sight.

Reeve can’t help but think that she looks younger in the dress. It’s not often he’s seen her in something so casual and plain, always choosing to wear something to make her stand out in a crowd, some new fashion that was taking Midgar by storm. There’s something innocent-looking about her, rubbing at her eyes with her knuckles as she sits down at the table.

Too tired to throw together a proper breakfast, and not wanting to make a lot of noise before the sun has risen, he’s put out a spread of whatever fruit was left in the refrigerator, toast and jam, and yogurt. It’s a sorry spread, if he’s being honest, especially compared to Elmyra’s typical cooking, but Charlie doesn’t complain. 

The tip of a fluffy black tail brushes against his leg, and when he makes eye contact with Cat, the small little thing dashes from the room. Typical of Cat, to be terrified of him for no reason whatsoever.

It’s a quiet breakfast, and it occurs to him, as he and Charlie lift their eyes at the same time to look at each other, that he can’t remember the last time they had breakfast together like this. Breakfast for them was buying something from the cafeteria of the Shinra Building and bringing it back to their respective offices, or late breakfast from a nearby café left with a secretary.

Charlie smiles shyly at him, rubbing the top of her foot against his calf underneath the table. “You look nice today,” she says, the first thing she’s said all morning. 

Reeve looks down at himself, her foot traveling to his knee. He had decided on wearing a tie, wanting to still come across as professional in front of Rufus and the other Turks, _especially_ with Charlie at his side. “Thank you. You look very pretty in that dress.”

“Don’t you think I’m pretty all the time?” Her foot moves higher, moving back and forth against the inside of his thigh. 

“You know that I do.”

He’s already hard when her foot reaches its predetermined destination, drawing a sigh from him as the heat rises to his cheeks. She puts a strawberry to her mouth, making a show of the bite she takes out of it, acting far too innocent for her own good. 

Attempting to finish his breakfast, Reeve doesn’t miss the delight Charlie seems to find in the way he squirms and flushes, sighing and clearing his throat to cover soft moans that are pulled from him without his permission. He has no idea how long she keeps it up, unsure if the sun has even changed positions, unable to recall what it had looked like before she started this. 

It’s impossible to focus with her foot in between his legs, not stopping once until he wraps his fingers around her ankle to stop her himself, completely breathless.

“What’s wrong?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his lips quirked upwards. 

Burning with embarrassment, he manages to choke out in a low voice, “ _Gods_ , Charlotte, you’re going to make me come in my pants.”

“You have other pants, don’t you?” She grins, tracing her upper teeth with her tongue, trying to move her foot closer. “Don’t you want to finish?”

“ _Charlotte_ ,” he hisses, tightening his grip around her ankle as she continues her attempt to get back to him. 

She jerks out of his grip, and Reeve fears he’s made her angry, but she only springs up from her chair and takes him by the hand, dragging him to the bathroom. 

It’s easy enough to bend her over the sink, lift her sundress, and push aside the thin fabric that covers her cunt, slamming into her so quickly that she’s forced to bite down on her fist to stifle a strangled cry. 

She’s more beautiful than ever, now that he’s able to touch her instead of gazing at her through a computer screen. Charlie lifts her head to look into the mirror and he’s offered a lovely view of her reflection. Her typically pale face is flushed pink, lips slightly swollen and parted as she breathes raggedly. 

She’s so beautiful that he takes a moment to slow his pace, tugging gently on her hair to turn her face and press a kiss to her temple. He smooths back her damp hair and meets her eyes in the mirror, returning her small smile with one of his own. 

Even when they leave shortly after defiling the bathroom, the house is still quiet. He’s grateful for that much, at least. 

Before he pulls away from the front of the house, Charlie turns to him to ask, “We aren’t going to bring Cait Sith?”

Bewildered, he considers it. “I won’t really need him where we’re going.” The answer is enough to appease her, but just for her thoughtfulness, he brings her fingers to his lips before pulling onto the street, never letting go of her hand.

As he drives to the house that Tseng had told him about—a Shinra-owned building (like many of these rebuilt homes, probably unbeknownst to Charlie), he starts to become slightly more nervous. 

Reeve had assumed Charlie would be happy to see her brother again. And besides, the president’s spirits would likely benefit from a visit from his sister. But now, he isn’t so sure. Perhaps he should have told her, just to give her time to mentally prepare. 

When he pulls up in front of the house, a white sedan is parked along the street ahead of them. Charlie glances up at the building through the car’s window. It’s a small house compared to the other Shinra-owned ones around the world, but this house in particular was never meant for President Shinra or his children to stay in. The curtains in the second-story windows have all been closed. 

“What’s here?” she asks, frowning at him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. 

Reeve clears his throat, turning the car off. “I’ve been talking to Tseng these past few days.”

“You’ve been talking to Tseng?” she repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “About what?”

He pauses, toying with the car keys. “The Turks have decided to relocate your brother from Midgar to . . . here.”

Charlie turns in her seat again to look at the house, temporarily quiet. And then she faces him again, shaking her head. “Oh, Reeve, this is very sweet,” she begins, “but we don’t have to do this—”

“No, no. I want to.” Feeling a little more relieved, he smiles reassuringly at her. “Just come in.”

Tseng is the one to open the door after he knocks on the door in a pattern, just like they agreed upon, greeting the both of them and answering Reeve’s light questions about their drive in from Midgar with professional courtesy. He greets Charlie a little more warmly, but that’s to be expected. 

Elena has come, as well. She’s lounging on the sofa of the sitting room, her leg bouncing with anxiety as she fiddles with the television remote. She waves at them both from her place, fighting with the buttons. 

“Your brother is upstairs,” Tseng tells Charlie, gesturing towards a narrow staircase off to the side. “He’s awake, and will need his bandages changed. I can show you both how it needs to be done, if you’d like.”

Charlie glances up at Reeve, as if seeking his permission. He doesn’t mind, truly—if he did, he wouldn’t have brought them here. He’s feeling a little more inclined towards forgiveness in these last few days. 

“Please,” he replies to Tseng for her, “show us.”

* * *

Rufus is too exhausted, and in too much pain, to play any games with them. 

Charlie, Reeve, and Tseng all enter the bedroom together. Three people he has greatly wronged, and yet the only three people who may still care in any way about him despite that.

His sister looks so sweet and lovely in the blue sundress she’s wearing, the beautiful sister he had almost allowed to be executed, the loving sister he had hurt in his own rage. She even smiles at him, no matter how undeserving he is of it, sitting down on the edge of his bed so Reeve can have the empty chair. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, covering his limp hand with her own, her eyes traveling up and down his exposed body. 

A blanket covers him from the waist down, but he isn’t wearing a shirt, which means the bandages around his chest and neck and waist are out in the open, his broken and heavily bruised body on display for them all to gawk at and privately comment on when they leave the room. Rufus can hardly move, especially with the cast around his foot, needing help to even get into his wheelchair. 

“You look very pretty today,” is all he can think to say, his voice hoarse. 

His sister smiles, but there’s something akin to pity in her expression that he doesn’t like. 

“I need to change your bandages, sir,” Tseng says quietly, glancing over the bed at Charlie. “I’m going to show them how, if that’s all right.”

Rufus clenches his jaw and purses his lips, but nods. It had taken two nurses to do it at the hospital, but they had been professionals, and Rufus hadn’t felt any sort of connection to either of them, but this is different. These are people who he has hid his vulnerability from for nearly half his life, save for Charlie, and the thought of them all cooing over him makes his heart beat very fast. 

Charlie helps him sit up straight, but the pain makes him moan softly. Tseng reaches around and begins to unravel the bandages already around him, leaving his torso bare for everyone to see. 

No one says anything, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking about it. He knows what he looks like, covered in purple bruises and half-healed wounds. 

“Help me, Charlotte,” Tseng says, almost a command, and even Rufus is surprised at how quickly she obeys him, without a single scowl or hesitation or word of protest. The Turk picks up the fresh bandages from the nightstand and shows her where to begin, passing the bandages around Rufus’s waist to her so she can just pass it back again. 

Reeve takes over Charlie’s job, one gentle hand on Rufus’s arm to keep him in place, another hand just below the nape of his neck, keeping him propped up as straight as possible. Charlie’s fingertips swipe over his skin, and one of Tseng’s hands touches the bandages to make certain they’re tight enough, and suddenly, Rufus can’t take it anymore.

He isn’t sure what causes him to overreact to such simple and kind touches, but he’s unable to squirm away from them, so as Charlie wraps the bandage around his left breast, Rufus hisses, “Stop it! _Stop!_ ”

Everyone jumps away from him, pulling their hands away and holding them up in defense. Without Reeve to keep him in a sitting position, Rufus falls back onto his pillows with a pained grunt, feeling his entire face stinging with embarrassment. 

He closes his eyes, breathing very heavily. “Get out, all of you,” he orders them, his voice breaking. “Except for Charlie.”

He waits for the heavy footsteps to exit the room, the door closing behind them, before opening his eyes again. Charlie looks sad, still seated at the edge of the bed, brushing off the front of her dress. 

Needing to siphon off some of his humiliation, he snaps, “If that _brute_ puts his hands on me again—”

“He’s only trying to help,” she answers patiently, giving him a rather disappointed look. 

“I don’t need his sympathy,” he continues, knowing he shouldn’t. At least, not to Charlie’s face. “I don’t need his _pity._ ”

Feeling helpless, broken, useless, and childish, Rufus cries hot and frustrated tears in front of his sister, gritting his teeth as if that will stop them from crying. Charlie holds his hand with both of her own, bringing it to her mouth and kissing his knuckles very chastely. 

“Rufus, it’s all right,” she whispers, combing his hair out of his face. “Rufus, we love you. We love you so much. We just want to help you.”

She means well, but it only makes everything worse. The fat tears sting his cheeks and the humiliation of Charlie knowing why he’s suddenly suffering from some form of panic attack is almost too much to bear. 

He’s used to her touches, however, and her touch brings him unimaginable comfort in that moment, even just holding his hand. 

“Do you want me to do the rest of your bandages?” she asks, and Rufus nods very quickly, allowing himself—in what may be the last moments he gets to spend with his sister, if Meteor strikes the planet—to play the part of needy younger brother again, to indulge himself in this final comfort. 

Picking up where she and Tseng left off, Charlie lets him lean forward on her so she’s able to wrap up the rest of his chest and neck. When she finishes, she admires her work and helps him settle back onto all of his pillows. 

“You should get some rest,” she urges him, not returning to her place upon the bed. “And afterwards, we can sit on the patio together. It’s a beautiful day.”

Rufus is very thankful that Charlie will give him some space, time to make it look like he hasn’t been crying. She lingers, smoothing back his hair some more. He doesn’t know why he says it. “Will you stay with me? Just for a little while.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Someone knocks on the door again an hour or so after he had been asked to leave Rufus’s bedside, in the same obnoxious and repetitive pattern that had been established as their code. 

Tseng tells Elena to answer the door, deep in conversation with Reeve about the state of Midgar and the Shinra Building. Weapon’s attack had leveled much of the top-side buildings with the debris that had fallen and the fire that had started. Emergency services were little enough, with most of Shinra’s workers abandoning the company at the final hour. 

When Reeve sees who’s following Elena into the living room, he jumps to his feet, flexing his fingers and suddenly wishing that Charlie was by his side. 

It’s not the sight of Veld that gets him worked up, but the sight of the man beside him. Vincent Valentine strides into the room, red eyes flicking over him like Reeve hasn’t just spent weeks in his company (not that Vincent would know that). 

“Where’s Charlotte?” Veld asks Reeve, shaking his hand firmly. 

“Upstairs, with Rufus. There’s already been an incident.”

As he describes Rufus’s small panic attack in the bedroom to Veld, Vincent’s eyes suddenly widen in comprehension, and he looks again at Reeve, subjecting him to a rather critical inspection. Trailing off awkwardly, Reeve clears his throat and looks helplessly at Veld, who doesn’t seem to notice anything is off. 

“Reeve,” Vincent says after a few moments of silence, not quite a question, but not at all accusatory. 

Reeve looks around at the others, wringing his hands in front of him. “Yes?” And when Vincent scoffs into his collar, he can’t help but add sharply, “Is something funny?”

“You were hoping I wouldn’t make the connection?”

“Have you not met the kid yet, Vince?” Veld claps a hand on Reeve’s shoulder, making him feel like he’s twenty-five all over again, very childish in the former director’s shadow. 

“Not formally, I suppose,” Vincent remarks, and while he _looks_ cold and imposing, he seems much warmer than Barret had been during their first meeting. “Charlotte has told me very, _very_ much about you.”

As the heat rises to his cheeks (it’s not like he was actively attempting to hide his identity . . . maybe), Reeve tries to think of everything Charlie may have told this former Turk about him. Surely terrible things, as she had been furious upon learning that he was spying on them. 

“All good things,” Vincent says again, easing Reeve’s fears instantly. 

Reeve smiles nervously, but is saved from further conversation by the sound of Charlie’s voice from the top of the stairs. He looks up to see her wide-eyed and looking down at them all, one hand on the banister. “Vincent!” she gasps. “What are you doing here?”

“I hope you haven’t rescinded the offer you made me in Midgar.”

“No,” Charlie breathes after a moment, “no, of course not. I’m so glad to see you. I’m—” She looks them over again, her eyes settling on Reeve’s. He watches her mouth curl into a smile. “I’m just so glad that you’re all here.”

She skips gracefully down the stairs, sidling up beside Veld while continuing to flash sly smiles at Reeve. It looks so natural, seeing Veld talk to Tseng and Elena about returning to Midgar with his prosthetic arm wrapped around Charlie’s shoulders, her arm around his middle and her head resting on his shoulder. 

After a few minutes, Charlie’s eyes glaze over and Reeve knows that she’s not listening to a single thing being said. She’s a million miles away from here right now, but she doesn’t look at all unhappy. In fact, she looks the complete opposite, like she’s finally been reunited with her family and the people she loves most. 

When the conversation ends, Veld kisses her head in an almost distracted way, promising to be back in a moment with Vincent. Tseng beckons Elena to follow him upstairs, wanting to check on the president, leaving Reeve alone with Charlie in the living room. 

Not wanting to reflect back on this moment and wish he had used his time with her more wisely, he quickly reaches out to grab her face in his hands, kissing her hard while no one is looking. 

When he pulls away, she looks dazed, swaying on her feet and flushed. “What was _that_ for?” she asks breathlessly. 

Reeve shrugs, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth unbidden. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

Charlie giggles behind her hand. “You’ve met Vincent, I see.”

“Yes, I have.”

“I hope he didn’t tell you anything embarrassing. I sort of . . . talked a lot about you with him. All good things, of course.”

“That’s good to hear,” he smiles, moving forward to hold her, this woman he loves so much. He doesn’t care anymore what she’s done, only that she’s here now with him during the end of the world. 

“Is it?” she asks, looking up at him and splaying both hands over his chest as he wraps his arms around her waist. “You thought I might say not-so-good things about you?”

“You would have had reason to.”

“You think?” Charlie is smiling again, reminiscent of relatively easier days, of _better_ days. It’s good to see her playful, and doubly sweet to know that it’s him she’s chosen to be playful around. “I don’t know that I’m capable of speaking badly of a man who has spent years of his life being nothing but kind and loving towards me.”

He smiles bashfully. “I’ve loved you for a very long time,” he whispers, half-afraid of someone listening in on something so intimate. Reeve has to remind himself that the house is not empty, and full of spies.

“I know,” she teases, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Me too.”

“No,” he protests, not unkindly. “I’ve loved you since . . .” He squirms suddenly, unsure of where he’s going with this. He has a hard time genuinely believing that telling Charlie he’s been in love with her since she was a teenager is an appropriate thing to say right now, and he doesn’t really know why he wants to. Maybe he just wants her to know that his feelings have never, and will never change. 

“Since . . . ?” she prompts him innocently, raising her eyebrows.

When was it, really? The night she had come to his apartment, crying and bruised and bleeding, trusting him to care for her? The way she had blushed upon removing her shirt and lying facedown on the sofa so he could tend to the wounds on her back? The way she had curled up beside him on the sofa like a cat that night in a loose-fitting t-shirt of his, the tops of her feet tucked underneath his thigh?

She had been gone when he woke the next morning, no sign of her anywhere, and he had been half-convinced it was all just a dream. 

No, it was before that, but that was the night he had been certain it wasn’t just the infatuation he was frightened it was. 

It was poring over her plans for a rocket ship and leaving him dumbfounded by it, looking up from the plans at Charlotte and realizing that the young girl beside him was far smarter than people gave her credit for and _knew_ it. 

His hands move to her upper arms, skin warm to the touch and so soft beneath his hands. 

“Since I first met you,” he confesses, not feeling half as ashamed as he thought he might, uncertain if that’s a good or bad thing. “Ever since I first spoke to you.”

To his surprise, Charlie laughs. It’s sweet and soft and the only sound he wants to hear before the world ends. “Me too,” she says again with a flash of her perfect teeth, looking at something over his shoulder. “Ask Veld. He knows all about it.”

“All about what?” comes Veld’s voice from behind him. 

Reeve releases her, putting a respectful distance between them and turning around. “About how much I talked about Reeve,” she answers casually, her cheeks still pink. 

Veld gives him an exasperated look, moving fully into the living room and adjusting the watch on his wrist. “Every other damned sentence out of that girl’s mouth was ‘Reeve did this’ and ‘Reeve likes that’ and ‘Reeve said this’.” 

Charlie giggles again, and the knowledge that she isn’t just saying that to make him feel better floods his entire being with warmth and love. Or perhaps a little bit of that is embarrassment. 

“Mind if I steal her from you for a little?” Veld asks, gesturing towards Charlie with his chin. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”


	71. Chapter 71

“Are you being good to that boy, Charlotte?”

Charlie lowers her eyes. Veld knows what she’s done. Reeve has likely told him everything already—or at least some of it, probably before assisting with her escape from Junon. “I’m trying to be.”

“Ah, I didn’t bring you out here to scold you . . . but he’s a good man, and if there is anyone who deserves you, it’s him.” He sighs very heavily, putting his hand on her shoulder as they enter the back garden, not quite as colorful as the one Elmyra has put together. In fact, it looks as if this house hasn’t hosted a gardener in years. “Let’s sit down. I’m getting old, and my legs aren’t as good as they used to be.”

They sit at a round, iron table that’s beginning to rust, lopsided on its narrow and uneven legs. Charlie is surprised at how used she is to the sight of Meteor by now, though that doesn’t mean it doesn’t frighten her. It paints the sky red, and the wind is beginning to pick up. Soon, she knows, the storms will begin, just like they have in Midgar, the place that will take the brunt of Meteor’s assault should Cloud fail to stop Sephiroth. 

She heaves a great sigh to match one of his own. Knowing that she may only have days left to live has shed light on her priorities, and one of the things she would rather not do is sit here and relive the traumatic experience of having her heart shattered by the man she had considered a father. She would just be happy to sit here with him in silence and enjoy his company, to know that he has not forgotten her, to know that it was all real and not just some half-remembered fever dream. 

“You’re pissed off at me, aren’t you?” he asks her, the wind ruffling his hair. His features seem to have softened over the years, or he’s just getting old, like he said. 

“I don’t know,” she admits, looking back out towards the green forests that surround Kalm. “I was angry for a while after you left. I hated you for a long time. You passed me off to Tseng like I was nothing.”

“I know, princess, but you haven’t heard the whole story yet. It might mean nothing to you, but at least give me a chance to explain myself.”

Charlie isn’t against listening, at least hearing him out, but the story is far more tragic than she could have imagined, and he details his life as the leader of the Turks as a very lonely and isolating thing, despite the found family that surrounded him. Slowly, he begins to tell her about the botched firebombing of Kalm that killed his wife and presumably killed his daughter, as well. 

And she has to look away when he tells her about meeting this presumed-dead daughter several years ago as the leader of Avalanche, unable to remember her long-gone family until then. 

“I had to go find her, Charlotte,” Veld says desperately, his voice shaking with emotion. It’s unlike him to seem so weepy, a stark contrast compared to the stoic and gruff leader he had been. “She was weak, getting weaker, and she needed me.”

 _I needed you,_ she wants to say, but she has no right to say that. She isn’t his daughter, and she never has been. It’s likely that Veld had only been projecting onto her the entire time, and maybe ‘little princess’ was never _her_ nickname, but his daughter’s. 

_Was I . . . her replacement?_

“It had nothing to do with you.” Of course he knows her better than she knows herself. He had spent years at her side, guiding her through adolescence with the patience only a doting and loving father could possess. “It was the only chance I might have ever had to see my daughter again. Surely you understand.”

She toys with the hem of her dress. “I guess so.”

“Look, princess, I’m sorry. I thought about you a lot, and I know that a lot was kept from you, but you can’t blame Tseng or Reeve for that, all right? They were only honoring my request. If you’re going to be upset about that, then be angry with me.”

“Why couldn’t I know?” Charlie asks, feeling childish. 

“It was all to keep you safe. I didn’t want to get you involved. I didn’t want your father believing that we were in league with each other, or that . . . or that you might know where I was, or that my daughter was heading an Avalanche cell.”

She keeps her eyes lowered. She isn’t mad at him, not truly. It still hurts very much to know that he had left her with hardly a second thought to chase after his true daughter, but Veld has done too much for her over the years to really say with confidence that he never cared. Of course he had cared, and how could she ever hate him when she knows that?

“By the time I left to go find my Felicia, I knew that you were in good hands. I could never have left if I thought you would be alone.” Veld raps the top of the table lightly with his knuckles, which causes Charlie to lift her eyes again. “I made Tseng promise me to look after you, and you were busy starting your own life with Reeve. If I was not confident in your safety and wellbeing, I would have returned to Midgar, believe me.”

Charlie exhales softly, the wind knocked out of her. Would he really have come back if she needed help? Didn’t he realize the kind of trouble she was in with Rufus? Wouldn’t Reeve have told Veld that she desperately needed help?

“Listen to me,” Veld instructs her, leaning forward with his elbows on his thick thighs. “There is a reason that we Turks don’t place much stock in family. There is a reason that not many of us settle down with a nice boy or girl and have a whole litter of children to keep us company. It’s a risk, and it is vulnerability unbecoming of killers who rely so much on anonymity and a cold heart. Love makes us weak, complacent, and it is dangerous. Having something we love means something the company can hold over our heads.”

She says nothing. It is nothing she hadn’t known already. 

“But I loved you like my own. I would have done anything for you. I would have butchered every damned person who tried to take you from me. I would have gone through hell for you. I would have done anything to keep you safe, to give you the life you deserved.”

“Did you find her at least?” Charlie asks after a moment, digesting this confession, and Veld smiles weakly at her. “Felicia?”

“I did. I’ll introduce you sometime. I think the two of you might get along.”

The thought of being introduced to his daughter is painful, despite how petty it may be. It’s not that she feels that she’s been replaced, not really. It’s the knowledge that Veld was willing to go to the ends of the earth for his daughter (and for her, she knows now), and Charlie’s own father didn’t even want her, despite what he had written in his letters and said to her face during stolen and private moments. 

“But enough about me,” Veld chuckles, raising his eyebrows expectantly at her. “You’ve been raising hell across the Planet, haven’t you?”

Charlie scoffs quietly, looking away again. “It doesn’t matter. It was all for nothing anyway.”

“All for nothing?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “How could you say that? Weeks of traveling around on a mission to save the Planet, and you think it was all for nothing? That doesn’t sound like you, Charlotte.”

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t help. I didn’t care about the planet. I left Reeve, and for what? I thought it would keep him safe, and all it did was hurt him more. The gun that I had of yours—I never even fired it. I’ve never even shot a gun at something other than a tree trunk—”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Rufus would have—”

“I don’t want to hear that,” Veld interrupts her, just as her eyes begin to fill with tears. “You’re not Rufus, so why are you comparing yourself to him? If you want to know what I think, I think it says a lot about you that you didn’t fire your gun, not even in the face of a monster.”

She thinks of Scarlet, and of how badly she wanted to pull the trigger. Scarlet had spent years terrorizing her in the most subtle ways, through passive insults and cold looks, treating Reeve like he was nothing, less than dirt. Shooting Scarlet would have been a mercy, Charlie thinks to herself, and she _still_ couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

The inability to put someone out of their pain and misery, however, doesn’t seem to Charlie like something that she should brag about. She had grown up around people like Veld and Tseng—all of them murderers, and very self-aware of that fact—and yet, she had not inherited the cool professionalism from them that such dirty things required. She would never have been able to become a Turk, not with her soft woman’s heart. 

“All I did was waste their time,” she continues, wondering how the others are faring, wondering if they’re going to rejoin Cloud to fight Sephiroth. “But they took me in when I had nowhere else to go.”

“I’m sure you learned a little about yourself. Does that not count for something?”

 _Did I?_ she wonders. She hasn’t really thought about it all that much, hasn’t considered how much—if at all—she’s changed during her time with Avalanche. 

_I learned that all of those people I once thought below me are all human beings with stories that are just as tragic, or more tragic, than my own,_ she thinks. _And I learned that they are all far better people that I ever was, or ever will be._

_I learned what Shinra means to the world. I learned what Shinra has done to even the smallest villages._

“I learned that freedom is out of my reach. I’ll never be able to have the best of both worlds,” she says bitterly, fleeting memories of their travels together flashing through her mind—laughing around a fire, dining on fish and fat birds, teasing her lightly like she was one of them, like she wasn’t completely out of place at their sides. 

Veld hums, scratching the side of his face, the heavily scarred side. When she had asked about them, years ago, he had laughed it off and told her they made him look more handsome. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “Meteor is going to kill us all in a few days.”

“You think so?”

“It’s too late now. Holy didn’t work.”

“Well, Vincent seems to think there’s a chance. You should have a little faith in your new friends.” Veld shifts in his chair, turning to look at her. For a moment, Charlie feels like he’s just another figment of her imagination. Blink too quickly, and he’ll be gone. “Fine. We’ll speak hypothetically, then. Say Holy destroys Meteor tomorrow and all the Weapons go back into hibernation and Sephiroth is dead in the ground.”

“I’d go back to Midgar,” Charlie answers. It comes very quickly to her. “I’d go back to see the condition it was left in, and to see if the people were okay.”

“And after that?” After another pause, he adds teasingly, “Madam Vice President?”

She doesn’t like the title, and she doesn’t like being addressed as such. It is a title that makes her complicit in Shinra’s crimes, a title that weighs very heavily on her and doesn’t seem at all appealing like it used to. Her father had known that, she thinks. Her father had known she would feel this way. He had all but said so in his letters, and part of Charlie resents the fact that he knew her so well. 

Remembering the promise Reeve had made to her in the closet of their temporary home, she sighs. He wants to leave Shinra behind, and he will never be able to do so with Charlie at his side. “I don’t know,” she says after a long time. 

“Feeling aimless, huh? What about Reeve?”

She purses her lips. “He’s done with Shinra. He wants to walk away from this life, and I’m going to let him, without me.”

Veld’s face falls, and she blushes. He seems disappointed with her, and that’s the last thing she wants. “You wouldn’t want to go with him?”

Of course she would. Charlie would go anywhere with him, if she had that luxury. “How am I supposed to just walk away from the company? It’s all I’ve ever known. You think it’s that easy for me?” She swipes at the tip of her nose, blinking back tears. “Even if I were to go with him, my very presence would just be a . . . a black _stain_ on everything he does.”

“I don’t think you give that boy enough credit, Charlotte.” He leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “You don’t think he knows what being with you means? You think he doesn’t understand the possible implications? You think he hasn’t been aware of that the entire time?”

She blushes harder. She doesn’t want Veld to think she believes Reeve is anything less than one of the most intelligent people she’s ever met in her life, but she truly doesn’t believe that Reeve ever completely understood the baggage that came along with being with her. 

“You know he called me a little while ago about his . . . intentions with you?”

Charlie sits up straighter, glancing towards the back door of the home to make sure no one is listening. “What do you mean?”

“He wanted my blessing,” he laughs roughly, “to marry you.”

At a loss for words, Charlie only stutters incoherently, trying to gather her thoughts. It’s difficult, however, when all she wants to do is run inside and throw her arms around Reeve and kiss him all over his face. “He did?”

“You think I didn’t tell him, little princess?” Veld smirks, like she was in the wrong for ever doubting him. “You think I didn’t have that conversation with him? You think I would have given him my blessing if I thought he was ill-suited and ill-prepared for a marriage to the president’s only daughter?”

She smiles, at both Veld’s desire to protect her still and Reeve’s obvious respect for her relationship with Veld. “Father was so pleased,” she recalls, unable to wipe the smile off her face. “Sometimes I think Father loved Reeve more than he loved Rufus or me. I don’t really blame him, though. I mean, I understand. He was what Father always wanted Rufus to be.”

This makes Veld laugh again, and it’s nice to know that he still finds her a little funny. “Your father loved you, Charlotte.”

That wipes the smile off her face quick enough. “I wish he hadn’t.”

“No one says you have to forgive him.”

Charlie is quiet for a long time. “I’m glad he’s dead,” she breathes. 

It’s the first time she’s said it outloud, perhaps the first time the thought has been so clear. Even Veld seems surprised by her confession, but she doesn’t regret saying it. 

“I wanted _you_ to be my father.”

“I tried, darling.” He’s fraught with emotion now, and Charlie can see now just how old he’s gotten. “Did I do okay? Did I do a good job? Did I do enough?”

The stress of his job had aged him quickly, and leaving the Turks must not have been the easiest thing in the world, either. His hair is graying very severely now, with far more streaks than she remembers throughout his brown hair. Even the days’ old hair on his face is peppered with gray, and the lines at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead are deep and pronounced. 

She takes a moment to look over his face, thinking hard about her childhood. 

She thinks of all the trips to the beach and all the times he had carried her home. She thinks of all the times she had screamed _I hate you!_ while storming up to her bedroom, the tears she had cried into his chest when she needed comfort, the bedtime stories and forehead kisses when he would tuck her into bed. She remembers starting in his bed at night, only to be carried back to her own bed when he came upstairs. 

All things her own father never did with her, or never allowed her to do. 

Charlie nods and, if she didn’t know Veld any better, she would say he might be on the verge of weeping. Perhaps teenage-Charlie would not have known what to do. Teenage-Charlie likely wouldn’t have been as perceptive of his emotions as she is now. 

She reaches out across the table with an open hand, and his real hand meets hers in the middle. She takes it in her own, the callused skin of his palm and fingers rough against her hand, but she doesn’t mind. There’s something comforting about it. 

“You’ve grown into a fine woman, Charlotte. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

Veld squeezes her hand. It makes her feel lighter, and in that moment, it’s as if all of her burdens have suddenly lifted. Perhaps the journey hadn’t all been for nothing, she thinks to herself. 

She had visited Modeoheim and felt something akin to Angeal’s spirit within the bathhouse. She had spoken to him again, even if it had all been a dream, but she suspects now that her close proximity to the Lifestream within the Northern Crater had something to do with it. 

She had found out what happened to her mother and kneeled before her grave with her friends behind and beside her, hands on her shoulders and arms around her neck as she wept.

She learned how to shoot a gun and how to build a fire and how to catch fish with nothing but a net. She learned to trust her friends to catch her when she falls and she learned to trust them with her innermost secrets, and she learned what it felt like to laugh around a fire with people who didn’t care that she was the vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company. 

She was finally able to tell Tseng what he meant to her, even if it had been under the worst circumstances imaginable, and she found the strength to finally fight back against her brother. 

She had stood upon the deck of her airship as it sailed just below the clouds, letting the wind consume her, screaming to the heavens to release all the burdens weighing her down. 

She had taken her rocket into outer space and been among the stars, floating in the expansive, unknown frontier. She had achieved her dream with the man who had helped make it possible. 

“You’ve had a rough few months, haven’t you?” he asks her in a low voice, squeezing gently again. 

Charlie doesn’t know why it’s those words that trigger the tears. They burn her eyes, and her free hand jumps to her face, desperate to hide those tears. She nods slightly. 

“I know, princess. I know.”

* * *

“Reeve was hoping I could salvage some of your things. I brought what I could, but your apartment building had been badly damaged during Weapon’s attack.”

That doesn’t surprise her. She lived so close to the Shinra Building that it was bound to be clipped by some falling debris. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tseng seems to have salvaged more than _some_ of her things. He’s managed to save her box of treasured pictures and letters, a few makeup boxes, as well as much of her jewelry. There are pictures in cracked frames and trinkets that had been displayed upon the shelves in her home office. In addition to that, however, several duffel bags sit closed on the bed, duffel bags that she can’t recall ever seeing before. 

She creeps closer, holding her hands out to unzip the nearest one. Charlie glances over her shoulder at Tseng, who gives her a little nod. 

The bag is full of money, of bills all fastened together by colorful bands. The other five bags are full of money, as well, enough money to last her years without requiring much frugality. 

“What is this?” she asks quietly, turning back around to face Tseng, bewildered. 

Tseng hesitates, his hands held behind his back. “I thought you might need some money. It’s all your own, so you shouldn’t feel guilty about keeping or spending it.”

Charlie scoffs, zipping the bags back up. “I don’t need this. Meteor is going to destroy the Planet in days. I won’t need money if I’m dead.”

“The Turks are operating under the more optimistic assumption that Meteor will be destroyed, along with Sephiroth.” He steps forward a little bit, breaking his professional demeanor very quickly and cleanly, a difference that’s as clear to her as night and day. “Would it kill you to have a little hope?”

She purses her lips, almost wanting to laugh aloud at the irony of Tseng chastising her for such a thing. “What do you expect me to do with all of this?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Reeve told me you accepted his resignation from the company,” he begins slowly, “and I thought this might save you an unnecessary trip back to Midgar. I’m under the impression he has no desire to return.”

She understands, then. It’s a sweet gesture from Tseng, giving her the option of walking away. She wonders if this is something he has discussed with Rufus, wonders if Rufus was the one who suggested it. Is it possible that Rufus is willing to let her go if they survive?

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if she’s allowed the chance to walk away. 

“Tseng, I’m . . .” Charlie shifts uncomfortably on her feet, smiling weakly. She lowers her voice, as the door is halfway open. “If we survive, I’m . . . not going with Reeve, wherever it is he chooses to go.”

Seeming genuinely surprised by this, Tseng narrows his eyes at her. “Why not?”

“Well, so long as he’s associated with me, it’s like . . .” She blushes terribly, biting down on her lower lip as his eyes fix intently upon her face and don’t look away. “I don’t want to hold him back. He could do anything he wanted to, but not with me. I would only be a burden.”

It’s surprising to her that the thought of surviving Meteor is more painful than the thought of dying. 

“Why did you return?” Charlie tilts her head slightly. “Rufus thought you were dead. You could have turned your back on the company forever and Rufus likely would have been never the wiser about it.”

He thinks for a moment, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand. “Where else would I have gone?” Tseng scoffs, but it’s bitter-sounding. “I suppose you and I are quite similar. The company is all we know. It’s difficult to walk away from something that has given us so much life.”

Looking Tseng up and down, she pauses, unsure how he’ll react to her question. “Can I see it?” she asks, and then adds softly, “Your scar?”

He looks very reluctant, and she regrets asking, but he doesn’t rebuff her or purse his lips or shake his head. Instead, after a few moments lost in thought, he slips his suit jacket off his shoulders and places it on the end of the bed with care. Charlie bites down hard on her bottom lip as he untucks his shirts and pulls it up to reveal his torso. 

The scar is bigger—and generally, far worse—than her own, puckered and swollen and very pronounced against his skin. She’s certain that it’s a very painful reminder of that day for Tseng, so she doesn’t look for too long, turning away to give him a little privacy. 

She catches sight of the money on the bed, her heart aching. She hadn’t even thought to ask Reeve what his future plans were, and then she feels selfish. She knows that he doesn’t really expect to survive the ordeal, but maybe he’s thought about a life away from Shinra before now, and maybe he still has some plans. 

Or maybe she would rather not know. Part of her would rather not have to listen to him describe a life without her, a _happy_ life, one of peace and contentment, one that would eventually lead him to another woman with far less emotional baggage.

Charlie inhales deeply, clapping her hands over her face and sobbing into her palms. She quickly quiets herself, but it’s enough to alert Tseng to something terribly wrong. A hand comes down upon her shoulder as she back jumps with each muffled cry. 

“Charlotte—”

“I love him,” she cries brokenly, nearly glowing with embarrassment. 

“Who?”

She lowers her hands from her face, exasperated and incredulous. “ _Reeve!_ ”

“Then why are you crying?”

_Because our time is limited now and there are so many things he’ll never know. Because he’ll never be happy with me, and I’d rather he be happy than be burdened by me. Because he will never possibly know how much he means to me._

“I just don’t want him to leave,” she says, and she flushes at the childish and petulant way the words sound upon leaving her mouth. “I don’t want him to leave me like everyone else.”

“Well . . .” He inhales deeply, clearly very uncomfortable. “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“I thought I was never going to see him again,” she continues, the familiar feeling of shame bubbling up inside of her. “I never meant to hurt him—I just didn’t want to be alone, and I thought I was going to die—and when I was in Junon, Rufus—” 

When she tucks her hair behind her ears, pushing it out of her face, Tseng stiffens. “When you were in Junon . . . ?”

“It’s nothing,” she lies, realizing too late what she’s said. 

Why is it that all she wants to do lately is cry? She’s never been overly weepy, and it’s something her father had always insisted she do in private. 

Charlie wipes her cheeks, lifting Tseng’s arm to drape it over her shoulders as they face the window. “How did it come to this?” she asks, peeking through the blinds and hoping he decides to move on from their previous conversation. 

Tseng sighs, allowing her to rest her head against his own shoulder. “I’ve been asking myself the same question lately.”

“Do you think Cloud will be able to stop it?”

There’s a long pause. There is no love lost between the Turks and Avalanche, but Avalanche is their only chance now, and they both know it. “I’m not ready to die quite yet.” 

Charlie hums, and Tseng turns his head to look down at her. 

“I still owe you dinner.”

She can’t help but smile, a small breath leaving her in lieu of real laughter. “That’s right,” she says quietly, straightening and closing the curtains to hide the impending apocalypse from sight, “you do.”

* * *

_I don’t want to hold him back._

_I would only be a burden._

_I don’t want him to leave me like everyone else._

It’s not like he intended to eavesdrop, but upon hearing his name, he couldn’t help himself. 

Reeve won’t deny to himself that Charlie is exhausting, and sometimes seems like an enigma that he’ll never fully understand, always flighty and unsatisfied with some aspect of her life, prone to bouts of crippling self-loathing when left alone for too long. 

The same woman that had been so confident and bold and playful in the kitchen this morning, now doubtful and insecure, crying over him to a Turk. 

Doesn’t she know what she wants? 

Truthfully, he hasn’t given much thought to a future. It’s one of those things that he thought he might deal with when it came—until then, he has more important things to think about, such as his last few days with Charlotte and how much he’s going to be able to fit into those days. 

Would Charlotte genuinely be a burden? No, he would never consider her such, and he would never use that word in regards to her. 

Would his association with her make some things more difficult than they needed to be? He’s sure it would, but he’s seen his fair share of difficulties, and he’s more than willing to work a little harder if it meant Charlie being there with him. 

But telling her is not enough, clearly, and he has no intention of leaving her behind if they survive Meteor. He has invested too much of his time—of his _life_ —into loving Charlie that it seems outrageous to just leave her behind. 

Leaving her behind means leaving her to rot in a home with her brother, to shoulder the burdens of the Shinra Company without a real friend to care for her, to love her. It means not allowing her to move on with her life, to make something of herself that isn’t solely the legacy of her late father. 

And, of course, leaving her behind would mean aching for her at night, reaching over in bed to find she isn’t there in the morning, thinking so often of her that he sees her in everything he does and everywhere he goes. 

Reeve is very aware of the terrible situation he’s found himself in, but it’s pointless dwelling on it now. 

Before going back downstairs, he looks in on the president. Rufus is awake, propped up awkwardly and holding a book up to his face. Reeve knocks twice on the door and opens it wider, letting himself in. 

“Reeve,” he says flatly, closing his book. “Who sent you this time?”

“Just checking-in. Can I get you anything?”

Rufus snorts softly. “A bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, and a lovely woman. Or a man. I’m not feeling terribly picky right now.”

“That almost sounds like you’re celebrating something.” Reeve lowers himself into the chair at his bedside. “Unfortunately, you can’t drink on your pain medication, all of the shops downtown have been boarded up, and you should probably refrain from overexerting yourself.”

“Gods, you’re boring.” Rufus pinches the bridge of his nose, his tone not entirely serious. “If this is the end of the world, I should be able to choose how I want my own life to end, and I refuse for it to happen like this.”

Reeve notes the purpling bruises all over the president’s body. 

A scowl suddenly finds its way on Rufus’s face. “You’re probably enjoying yourself, are you? Messing around with my sister?”

Reeve exhales pointedly through his nose, not bothering to give him an answer. He stands up, but doesn’t get the chance to take another step before Rufus speaks again.

“All right, all right—I’m sorry.”

“Rufus, _please_ ,” he pleads, too tired for this. “If Cloud and the others succeed . . . please, just leave her alone.”

Rufus purses his lips, looking up at him. “If she wants to go with you, fine. I won’t stop her.”

“No tricks. No Turks. You let her go, no strings attached.”

“No tricks, no Turks. But _if_ she decides to go with you, then we’re even, you and me.”

Reeve wouldn’t say that’s very fair, considering all Rufus has done lately, but he isn’t about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Rufus closes his eyes, indicating an end to the conversation. “Leave me.”

* * *

Charlie takes care to lock the bathroom door.

If someone thinks she’s taking too long, at least one person in the entire house will come knocking. 

She spreads her things onto the bathroom counter, all of the jewelry and makeup that Tseng had recovered for her. It will be good to feel like herself again. 

Looking at herself now, it’s hard to believe it’s only been a few weeks since things were relatively normal. She’s gotten used to seeing her face bare and without makeup, her hair wavy and unbrushed half the time, looking like she’s just been fucked or like she’s just woken up.

She brushes her hair first before washing her face, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, like she’s skipped a few meals. She hasn’t been eating well lately, and her sleep is usually punctuated by nightmares of Sephiroth’s face looming above her own, blood on her hands as she cradles a dying Tseng, but those are manageable, especially with Reeve beside her to spoon her back to sleep at night. 

Out of practice, it takes Charlie a little while to paint her face with makeup, feeling as if she’s readying herself for a big speech or a quick photo shoot. When she paints the bright red lipstick across her lips, she drapes a diamond necklace around her neck and puts matching earrings in her ears, purses her lips, and takes a quiet moment to observe herself.

She looks just like her father—just like her brother. She can’t help but wonder how many times Cloud or Barret or Tifa or anyone looked at her and came to that same conclusion. 

It’s the long nose and pointed chin, her full lips and perpetual pout, the narrow jaw and blonde hair. She’ll never be able to hide in plain sight. Surely someone would always recognize her for who she is, so long as they haven’t been living under a rock these past years. Her face has been on magazine covers and on television for years now, plastered alongside her brother or father.

All at once, resentment towards her father boils to the surface, pure hatred and contempt making her see red. She hates him, and she hates looking into her own face and seeing him there, like he’s mocking her from beyond the grave. She will never be free of him, and that is a painful truth to accept. 

All of it hits her at once—her mortality, the truth behind her father and his misdeeds within the company, the absolute hell she’s gone through and back recently, and her face . . . her father’s face looking back at her . . . 

With the back of her hand, she swipes at her mouth, smearing the lipstick onto her cheek and hand. She rubs her eyes until the makeup is smudged there and tries to get the glitter off her cheekbones, but it’s no use. 

Charlie grits her teeth and releases a muffled scream, her closed fist coming around sharply to connect with the mirror. 

The glass shatters all at once, and pain shoots up her right arm from her knuckles to her shoulder, causing her to cry out and momentarily stunning her. She stumbles backwards and trips over her own two feet, sending her crashing to the ground and cradling her bleeding hand to her chest, the floor covered in small and large pieces of glass. 

Her breath comes very shallowly, her entire body shaking as sweat rolls down the back of her neck. She can hear heavy footsteps making quickly down the hallway on the other side of the door.

“Charlotte? What was that?” Reeve knocks three times in rapid succession. “Are you all right in there?”

Charlie closes her eyes, propping herself against the wall and sighing. She thinks her pinky might be broken. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, painful and humiliating. 

“Charlotte, are you all right? Unlock the door,” he says again, panicking. The doorknob twists and turns to no avail. “Unlock the door or I’m kicking it in.”

Her hand shakes violently, bright red and covered in blood, the back of her hand still stained with the lipstick she had tried to wipe off her mouth.

She doesn’t really believe Reeve is going to kick the door in, but she hears the first kick come a short while after she doesn’t answer him. She doesn’t have the strength to, on the verge of fainting. 

His second kick causes the door to splinter above the doorknob, and his third kick does the trick. The door opens hard and fast, slamming against the wall as Reeve hurries inside, kneeling down in front of her and grabbing her wrist. 

“Oh, Gods, what are you doing? What happened?” he asks, reaching for a hand towel and holding it to her bleeding knuckles, glass crunching underneath his shoes. He says nothing about the state of her face. “We’ll have to find a doctor still in town to look at your hand.”

Charlie watches him fuss over her hand, digging around in the medicine cabinet while holding the towel to her fingers. Her eyes sweep up and down his face, so close to her own, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice. 

She can’t even feel the pain, her head swimming. His mouth is moving, but she doesn’t hear what he’s saying. 

Reeve lifts his eyes from her hand. He takes hold of her face, giving her a gentle shake. “Hey,” he says, “are you with me?”

The pain comes back with the force of a freight train. Her hand is numb, but her wrist aches terribly, and there’s still a full, throbbing pain in her shoulder. Charlie’s breathing picks up.

What was she doing?

What was happening?

What sort of madness just possessed her to do something so stupid?

Tseng, Veld, Vincent, and Elena are packed in the doorway. Charlie isn’t really sure how long they’ve been standing there, watching. She fixes her gaze on Reeve’s face again, ignoring everyone else but him. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, wishing Meteor would just strike now. She’s tired of thinking about her own death, and the lack of time she has left. “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

“No—”

“Charlie,” he says firmly, the smile still on his face, cutting her off before she can explain what she’s even sorry for. “Really, thank you, but it’s all right. Does this hurt?”

She looks down at her hand. When had he started to properly clean it? Whatever is on the towel in his hand stings the cuts on her knuckles. “It hurts really bad,” she admits. 

“I know, sweetheart, just hang on. It doesn’t look like you’ve broken anything.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I can’t punch very hard, then.” 

The words come out hoarse and choked, and Reeve pauses his work to look at her for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard her. She blushes, only having meant to lighten the tension between her and the five other people inside the bathroom. 

And then he smiles again, resuming his work with soft laughter. “Yes, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

He’s the only one that laughs, but that’s all that matters to her. 

* * *

“You’re back!”

Marlene is still awake when they return that night, dressed in flowery pajamas and reaching up for Charlie to hold her. Unable to do much with her bandaged hand, Reeve distracts the girl with a few gil in his pocket, and she promptly runs upstairs with it to hide it away. 

Barret is still awake in the living room, watching a news broadcast on the television. It must be being broadcasted from nearly the other side of the world, judging by the quality of the video. While Reeve goes upstairs to probably avoid Barret, Charlie chooses to join Barret in the living room. 

“What’cha got in the bag, Shinra?” he asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

Charlie sits down on the sofa beside him, looking over the crayon drawings that are scattered on the coffee table. She sighs, lowering the bag to the ground. 

“Shit, what’d you do to your hand?” 

“I had an accident,” she answers quickly, and Barret takes it at face value. “We saw Vincent today. He and Veld came from Midgar. He said you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Barret’s face hardens and he looks away, off towards the foyer of the house. “Yeah. Can’t put it off any longer. I’m gonna have to ask you three to look after Marlene a little while longer. I know I ain’t got room to ask that of you—”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind, and I’m sure Reeve and Elmyra don’t mind either.” She even smiles reassuringly at him when he doesn’t look entirely convinced. “When you leave tomorrow, I want you to take this.”

Charlie hunches over, unzipping the bag. Barret sits up straighter when he catches sight of the bills are tucked inside. “Whoa,” he breathes, reaching down to touch the topmost bundles. “What’s this for?”

“It’s my end of the bargain. The twenty-thousand I promised when you brought me back to my family.” Charlie zips it back up and shrugs. “And a little additional compensation. Call it hazard pay, if you will.”

“That’s . . . a lot more than twenty-thousand.”

“You’re going to need it, aren’t you? You don’t want to face Sephiroth ill-prepared with those rusty weapons you’re all fond of carrying around.” 

Barret nods, rubbing the back of his thick neck. “Thanks.”

“There’s more when you come back. Come find me when this is all over,” she promises him, kicking the bag towards his legs. “I’m sorry if I was a burden to you all. I had no right to impose myself on you, but . . . you let me stay when I had nowhere else to go, and . . . I’m really grateful.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re all right. I know you didn’t have nothin’ to do with Corel, and I know you ain’t like that brother of yours.”

“You have no idea what that means to me.”

Barret smiles, leaning back against the sofa again. “Marlene’s told me a lot about your boy.” He shrugs his massive shoulders. “He’s all right too. Kinda thought he’d be taller.”

This makes Charlie laugh weakly. “Barret, Reeve would never hurt Marlene. I hope you know that.”

“I trust you. That’s why I need you here to keep an eye on her, too.”

Her heart swells with affection for Barret. Briefly, she remembers looking into his face clearly for the first time, his fingers tangled in the front of her shirt as he lifted her off the ground in a rage. She stands, brushing herself off with her left hand. 

“Well, good-night,” she says, listening to the soft pattering of Marlene’s feet coming down the stairs. 

“Night.”

“Barret . . .” Charlie hesitates, clearing her throat and shifting uncomfortably. 

He chuckles as Marlene runs back into the living room, kneeling back in front of the coffee table and picking her crayons back up. “He’s okay, Charlie, don’t worry,” he replies, as if he can read her mind. 

“All right.” It’s reassuring, and not quite as painful as she expected. “Tell him I’m sorry when you see him tomorrow, okay?”

“You got it.”

* * *

He wants to broach the subject carefully, especially after what she had done to her hand earlier today. 

Charlie lies sprawled on the bed with Cait Sith, staring off into the distance as her fingers move slowly up and down the cat’s chest. She misses Cat, he knows, but unfortunately, the anxious bastard has taken too much to Marlene and seems to have finally acknowledged that both Reeve and Charlie abandoned him. 

“He’s deactivated, love,” Reeve tells her after she continues her ministrations for a few moments, oblivious to the limp way the cat leans against her. 

“Hm?” Propped up on an elbow, she lowers her eyes to Cait Sith. “Oh. I thought he was just really enjoying it.”

“I’m sure he would, if he were awake to appreciate it.” He smiles at her, removing the tie from around his neck and sighing. “Be kind to him, Charlie. He’s partially me, you know, which means he’s very probably in love with you, too.”

“You’re in love with me?”

Yes, that sounds more like her. He turns around to face her again, unbuttoning his shirt and pausing at the sight of her face, looking up at him with wide eyes and a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I am.”

Charlie hums, looking back down at Cait Sith and smoothing his fur back down distractedly with her bad hand. “Me too.”

With his shirt still only half-buttoned now, he sits down on the side of the bed and smiles at the way she closes her eyes, resting her head on the pillow as he combs his fingers through her hair. “I think we should consider what might happen after Meteor, should we survive.”

“Well . . .” Her eyes flutter open again when Reeve pulls his hand away. “What do _you_ want to do?”

“I thought I might go to Junon,” he confesses, something he had spoken at length with Veld about earlier today. “And from there, depending on the damage Meteor inflicted, see what I can do to help the planet recover.”

“Sounds like you plan on staying busy.”

He laughs quietly, reaching out for her bad hand and bringing it close. She can hardly move her fingers from the curled position they’re in, but he avoids them best he can, kissing her palm and lowering her hand safely back to the bed. 

“I want you to come with me,” he says lightly, as casually as he can. “I want you to—” He can’t help but blush at the desperately pleading way it sounds. “I want to do this _with_ you.”

Charlie quickly averts her eyes. She’s still wearing her dress, and diamonds around her neck and in her ears that he had bought her only a few months ago, shortly before they became engaged. 

Finally, she says, “Well, I don’t. I don’t want to go to Junon.”

“It doesn’t have to be Junon. It can be anywhere you want. Anywhere in the world.” 

She’s quiet for a long time. “Who would ever want _my_ help?”

At least she’s being honest. At least she isn’t making him false little promises. Maybe she is, and maybe—if they survive Meteor—he’ll wake up to an empty bed again once she decides for herself that he’s better off without her. 

It wasn’t true then, and it’s not true now. 

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“Hm?” 

“I don’t want you to feel responsible for me simply because you pity me.”

Reeve furrows his eyebrows, frowning. “I don’t want you to come with me simply because I pity you. I want you to come with me because I love you.”

She turns her head again to look right at him, teary-eyed and defeated. Has she always looked so sad? “I would only be a burden,” she says hoarsely. “People will only ever look at me and see Shinra. That’s all I’ve ever been to them. Why should that ever change, even with the downfall of the company?”

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up. He hadn’t expected her to say it aloud, to talk about her feelings with him. He hadn’t expected her to allow herself to become so vulnerable. 

“You would never be a burden to me,” he whispers, rolling onto his side and splaying a hand across her stomach, the fabric slightly rough beneath his hand. “I don’t care what people might think of me. They don’t know me. They don’t know _you_. Not like I do.”

Charlie only continues to look at him, not at all convinced. “I never should have gotten you involved in all of this.”

“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His thumb brushes against her dress again, her eyes glancing down at his hand. She covers it with her own, squeezing gently. “If I regretted it, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

Reeve presses a kiss to the side of her neck, feeling encouraged when Charlie lifts her chin, exposing her throat to him. 

“When this is all over,” he tells her in a low voice, letting his lips graze over her throat, “I’m not leaving here without you.”

“You should,” she breathes, and then she’s crying again, but her fingers still thread through the back of his hair as he continues to place kisses on the soft skin of her neck, “if you know what’s good for you.”

He chooses to ignore this, kissing the tough scar left behind by Sephiroth. “Brave girl,” he murmurs, pushing himself onto his hands and knees to hover above her. Even as his hair falls into his eyes and face, she clumsily pushes it back with her bandaged hand. “I missed you so much while you were gone.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” And he does. Trailing kisses down her throat and across her neckline, he fumbles with the skirt of her dress, pulling it up to reveal long legs and—“ _Gods_ , Charlie, you weren’t wearing anything underneath this the entire time?”

She flushes head to toe, smiling nervously despite the tears on her cheeks. “I didn’t know where you were taking me. I thought we were going to be alone. I just wanted to be prepared.”

He laughs, but not at her. Charlie gives him a weak and nervous smile, as well as an embarrassed little shrug of her shoulders. Lifting her dress higher to reveal a taut stomach, expanding and contracting with each shaky breath. When he kisses the hard muscle there, he can feel the heat from her center radiating onto his chest, causing fervent desire to pool in his stomach.

“Reeve . . .”

“What?” he asks, lifting his head when she tugs gently at his hair. 

“You can’t convince me to go with you like this,” she tells him very seriously. 

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything.” A kiss on the inside of her thigh. Another on the other thigh. Unbidden thoughts of Rufus plague him suddenly, wondering what her brother might have tried to get her to do this way. “Except perhaps that I love you, but you know that already, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she answers quietly, like she doesn’t quite believe it at all. 

“Good. Then why are you shaking?”

“I don’t know. I just love you so much.”

He knows they’re only saying it so boldly because the world is ending, but that doesn’t keep his heart from throbbing upon hearing the words. “Charlie, relax. I’m not going anywhere. Let me take care of you.”

“Why?” she asks quickly, almost sounding defensive, nearly knocking the sides of his head with her knees when she tries to close her legs, her cheeks still pink. 

“Because I love you, and I want to make you feel good.” Pulling away from her, he lowers her dress again and moves up the bed to kiss the tip of her long nose. “That’s all it is, darling.”

A small, genuine smile finds its way onto her face. “I’m sorry.”

Reeve shushes her softly, moving back down the bed to push her dress up again, nudging her knees apart and settling between them. 

His reward is hearing his name repeated in soft sighs, fingers in his hair, whispered _i love you_ ’s and shudders that ripple through her entire body. It’s all worth it, he thinks, everything that he’s gone through these past few years, to see her writhing on the bed and whining his name like they won’t be dead soon, like they have years left to them, like they have the luxury of doing this every night for the rest of their lives. 

And later, as he leans back against the headboard while Charlie moves her hips atop him in some impossible way, wearing nothing but her necklace and earrings and breathing heavily, it’s too perfect to be anything but a dream. He presses his fingers harder into her sides, until her good hand catches his wrist. 

“You’re hurting me,” she whispers, not unkindly. 

“Sorry,” he replies, pulling his hands away immediately. “I just—” It’s hard to think when she’s moving like that. She must be some sort of witch. 

“I know,” Charlie smiles, tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning forward to kiss his sweaty forehead. He doesn’t quite think she does know, until she says, “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up any minute now.”

Reeve sits up straight, wrapping his arms around her and crushing his mouth against her own, swallowing her soft sound of surprise. 

She’s still there when he finishes, lights bursting behind his eyes, certainly no dream, and he continues to hold her in his lap for a moment, burying his face into the crook of her neck as their breathing slows again. 

It takes him a minute to realize she’s crying again, his normally stoic Charlotte weeping against his shoulder. “What is it?” he asks in her ear, not ready to let her go yet.

“It’s just not fair,” she cries. “I wish we had more time.”

“Me too.” He hasn’t given himself a moment to really consider his death. It’s not something he’s keen on thinking about, truthfully. “We’ll just have to make the most of it.”

Charlie pulls away from him, draping her arms over his shoulders just to look into his face and smile. “All right,” she agrees, smiling wider when he wipes away her tears with a thumb. “Then I want you to kiss me every five minutes, every five minutes on the _dot_. And I want you to hold my hand whenever it’s within reach.”

“That’s not unreasonable, I suppose. I think I can manage that, starting now.” Reeve kisses her, fingers running up and down her spine. “After all, I really do have all the time left in the world.”

Something in her face seems to soften, her smile suddenly not as forced. “I am so glad I met you,” she tells him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years.”

He blushes. “I’m sure you would have managed somehow. You had a lot of very capable people surrounding you. People who cared about you.”

“Maybe,” she admits carefully. “But I’ve never loved any of them the way I love you.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re the only man who’s never broken my heart.”

“And I never will.”

The words come easily to him, and as he places kisses to every inch of her face, she laughs, and it is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard in his life. 


End file.
